


Mentor 3

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Series: MENTOR, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair deal with the aftermath of Blair's attack and his ongoing recovery from sexual abuse.<br/>This story is a sequel to Mentor 1.<br/>Archivist note: This story has been split into four parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mentor 3

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Deals with sexual abuse.

This story has been split into four parts for easier loading.

## Mentor 3

by Grey

Notes: 1--Thanks to Jenn aka XFreak for proofing and being so supportive. Any mistakes, however, are my own. This was a huge job and she held in there like a trooper. 

2--Reading parts one and two would help tremendously in understanding all the nuances of this story. They can be found on my website. 

3--MENTOR 3 picks up right after the end of MENTOR 1, not part 2. Part 2 is a stand alone story set in the MENTOR universe. 

Disclaimer: Not mine, but maybe some day. 

Summary: Jim and Blair try to deal with the aftermath of Blair's attack and his ongoing recovery from sexual abuse. 

Warning: This deals with very dark issues and discusses them explicitly. Don't read this if stories about sexual abuse and molestation offend you. 

* * *

Mentor 3 - part one  
by Grey 

"I don't give a shit what the son of a bitch said. He's a liar. I know this case. Don Macy's the prime suspect. Now, get me those damn files, H." Jim Ellison stood by his desk, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the bridge of his nose. His jaw clenched as he waited, his brain about to explode. 

"Just hold up, man. Banks said not to investigate anything else until the suits decided what to do next." 

"Oh, that's fucking great. Just let the asshole walk while everyone stands around holding their dicks." His voice grew louder as he picked up a stack of folders and slammed them down, the vibration rocking his computer. Every head turned his way, the whole room suddenly silent. 

Only a few seconds later, Simon called out. "Ellison. My office." 

"Sir?" 

"Now." 

"Fuck." 

"I heard that." 

Jim walked into the office, his whole body wired, every nerve ready to fry and sizzle right before flaming bright red. The door closed behind him and Simon directed him to a seat. "Sit." 

"I don't want to sit." 

"I said sit, damn it. That's an order." 

Reluctantly, long term training kicked in and Jim settled in the chair. The whole time his body raged on, his mind flashed the images of his partner's despair, the sound of Blair's voice cracking as he told him to leave him alone for awhile. God, he hated being so fucking useless. 

"Okay, Jim, tell me what's going on." 

"I'm trying to work a case and every time I turn around there's more bullshit." 

"Try again." 

"What?" 

"I said try again. Tell me what's wrong." 

"I told you it's the case." 

"You don't get this pissed or throw things when it's just a case. Is it Blair? What's wrong?" 

After a long pause, Jim met concerned eyes, his voice strained. "It's complicated." 

"I've got time." 

"And it's personal." 

Simon took a deep breath and sat down at the table across from Jim. "Then think of me as your friend for a minute rather than a captain. You've got to talk to somebody. This is just between us." 

"It's not you, Simon. I know I can trust you, but this thing with Blair, man, this is like nothing I've ever been through. I don't know what to do." 

"What is it?" 

"You called it at the hospital." 

"Rape?" 

"Yeah, when he was a kid. I'm thinking this whole Donovan and Reardon thing has brought it all back to the surface." 

"I can see how it might." 

"Yeah, well, it's worse because one of the men involved was this really important mentor of Blair's and the guy just died." 

Simon sat back, his hand to his chin. "And from how you're acting, I'm guessing the kid's not taking it well." 

"No, and the sick fuck left him his estate. Not just property, but a shitload of journals and papers about Blair." 

"How do you know that?" 

"Because the lawyer brought one over and told Blair this morning. It's a mess." 

"Sounds like it." Standing up, Simon got two mugs and poured coffee for both men. He put one in front of Jim before he spoke. "I guess this explains your mood, then." 

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Jim rubbed his face with both hands before he picked up the coffee. He sipped the bitter liquid and waited for the heat to warm his gut, the chill wrapping his muscles not the least bit fazed. "He's shutting me out on this. I can feel it. I don't know what to do." 

"Well, you don't put your fist through the wall or take anybody's head off to start." 

"I know." 

"And you don't go around beating yourself up over things you can't control." 

"I'm trying." Jim's head dropped further down with each comment, his eyes shut against recalling his own wild actions. 

"And you get yourself into a session with Doyle. Today." 

"Captain..." 

"Today. No option." 

"That sounds more like the boss talking." Jim met his friend's dark eyes, not sure whether to be relieved or angered at the command. 

Simon shook his head, his face grim. "I'm both friend and boss here. You need some strategies to deal with this. More importantly, you're going to have to get a handle on this anger. You have to be there for Blair and you can't do that if you get your ass locked up for taking out a perp or get suspended for abusing a co-worker." 

"I'll be fine." 

"I know you will. But you're still going to see Doyle, and you're going to take some downtime if you need it." 

"I don't need any time off." 

"Maybe not now, but you might soon." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Experience." 

* * *

"Good afternoon, Jim. I'm glad you called. I'm worried about Blair. He didn't make his appointment this morning." 

"I know, doc. I'm sorry. We got some bad news last night and then again this morning. Blair's a little confused right now." 

"All the more reason to come in." 

"That's probably true, but try telling him that." Jim walked to the window, the low clouds outside dark and foreboding, bad weather just a few hours away. "Look, I know he's told you about Stoddard." 

"Yes, he has. I also heard about the plane crash. Is that the bad news you were talking about?" 

"Yeah, that and the fact that he left Blair his estate." 

"Really?" 

"Really. And that just ties him to Blair all that much more." He fisted his hands as he paused, his anger building. "I hate the bastard. I don't give a shit that he's dead. I wish I'd been the one to kill his sorry ass." The last few words came out almost a growl. 

"Your anger's understandable." 

"Is it?" 

"Yes. He hurt the person you love. It doesn't matter when it happened. It happened." 

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, his rage howling its own frenzied war chants. "Blair doesn't want me near him right now. I think my being so pissed off scares him." 

"How does that make you feel?" 

"Helpless. Like I'm going to lose him." He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, the contrast to his own emotional fever a relief. "I don't think I could stand that." 

"I don't think that's going to happen. Blair's just going through some tough times right now. He's having to adjust some thinking about his relationship with Stoddard and that's never comfortable." 

Frowning, Jim turned and faced Doyle. "What I don't get is why he keeps defending him." 

"He loved him." 

Hearing the words hurt. They stabbed and sliced at his heart, his pumping blood burning his raw tissues. "I know, but he was only fifteen." 

"Just because his feelings were immature or inappropriate didn't make them any less real. I think he really loved this man. Accepting that Stoddard abused him makes him have to question his own perceptions about himself and his ability to judge others, then and now." 

"Which is why it's tearing him up so much." 

"I think so, yes." 

Jim moved from the window and slumped down on the couch, his elbows on this knees, his hands out. "But what do I do? He keeps pushing me away. He says he has to work this out by himself. I mean, I understand that. I do. But it's so fucking hard. I just want to make it all go away." 

"And, you know that's unrealistic." 

"Yeah, but I still want it. I want our life back. I hate seeing him in so much pain." 

"It's never easy to watch the people we care for suffer." 

Sitting back, Jim leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, his voice soft as he talked about his partner. "I'm a selfish bastard. Blair's always the one to take care of me, to be there when I'm upset. You have no idea how many times I've been on the verge of crazy. Now he needs me and I don't have a fucking clue what to do." 

"What exactly do you mean on the verge of crazy?" 

Jim sat back up, his body still tense, but a little less edgy. "Remember the heightened senses thing?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Imagine your clothes hurting, your socks like fire ants eating your skin off, the lights like spikes through your eyeballs or the slightest sounds scratching at your ears until they bleed. And, god, the smells, they turn my stomach into knots. Don't get me started on airports. Everything attacks me all at once sometimes. Blair helps me deal with that." 

"How?" 

"He guides me, tells me how to control it, tells me how to dial it down. Most of the time I can do it by myself now, but when I get stressed out, well, sometimes I lose it and get these sensory spikes. Blair keeps me centered." 

Doyle sat down in a chair across from Jim, his face focused and alert. "So, he helps you like a coach." 

"Something like that, only so much more. I can't even put into words what it's like to have someone not treat me like a freak and just be there whenever I need him. I know he acts a little flaky sometimes, but he's the most stable person in the world when it comes to caring about other people." 

"Especially you." 

"Yeah." 

"But it's hard to do that when a person needs to take care of himself for awhile." 

"So, what do I do?" 

Doyle shook his head as he sat back, his arm over the back of the chair. "Well, you don't try to take over or fix it. That's not going to work here." 

"There has to be something I can do." 

"For the anger, you can work out in the gym, hit the punching bag instead of the first person to say the wrong thing." 

"And the rest?" 

"Just be patient." 

"I'm trying." 

"Not just with Blair, but with yourself. This is going to be quite the test." 

"Test?" 

"Yes. He may test you in a lot of different ways." 

Jim smiled sadly. "I'm used to taking Blair's tests for my senses, but I think I may need a crib sheet on the patience." 

Doyle smiled, his face less serious. "I have to admit, patience isn't your strong suit, but we can work on that. Have you ever kept a journal?" 

Groaning, Jim leaned forward and rubbed his face as he grumbled. "God, don't make me do paper work. I hate that." 

"It helps to write down what it is that makes you angry, your reflections on your anger rather than acting on it." 

Jim snorted, his body tense again. "That's easy. I can just keep writing how much I want the fucker to suffer." 

"By the fucker, you mean Stoddard?" 

Nodding, his eyes narrowed, Jim's voice chilled even himself. "Stoddard and every other fucker who hurts an innocent. It's why I'm a cop. I want people like him or Reardon to pay for being sick bastards." 

"Pay how?" 

"If it were up to me? With their fucking lives." 

* * *

Jim walked into the empty loft, his senses wide open and on alert. No partner greeted him, no soft sounds of sleeping came from their bed. Shit. 

"Blair?" No answer. 

A note lay on the table and he picked it up, Blair's cramped handwriting worse than usual because of his injured wrist. Deciphering the words halted his breathing. "Shit, Chief. Why do you do this?" 

He threw the paper back to the table and headed out to the truck hoping to get to the Stoddard house before the storm hit, before Blair did something seriously stupid and got hurt again. 

Driving out of the city gave him a mini-lesson in road rage, not that he couldn't be a first class instructor. Crazyass drivers went out of their way to slow him down and pump up his frustration and anger. Jim focused on the road while he drove the highway to the North Woods. What the hell was Blair thinking, driving with one hand out here in the middle of fucking nowhere? 

Jim found the house, no problem, Blair's Volvo parked out front. Grey smoke poured from the chimney, a backdrop to the beginning snow fall in the forest. Hell, take a damn picture and he could make a fucking Christmas card. 

Parking the truck, he climbed out and walked up the long drive, his body tightening, rebelling against entering the world of Stoddard, the place where Blair shared his life with another man. Steeling himself, locking away his rage, he tried the door and found it unlocked. Shit. Typical Sandburg. 

"Blair?" 

"Jim? What are you doing here?" Blair sat on a love seat in front of the fireplace, a stack of notebooks and papers in front of him and all over the floor. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes before he spoke. "I told you I needed to sort this through on my own." 

"I know what you told me." Jim shut the door, locked it, and stepped closer, the cold clinging to his clothes, his skin still ruddy and chafed from the wind. "Have you bothered to look outside?" 

"No." 

"It's snowing. It could turn to ice later. You're not even supposed to be driving yet. I didn't want to take a chance that you'd drive back on your own." 

Blair put the book down and turned sideways to face him, his legs tucked up under his body. Fatigue lined his face, his eyes bruised and swollen from crying, the shadow of his beard darkening his tired features. "I'm sorry, man. I just had to get out here and see what he wrote." 

"It's that important? After all these years, you couldn't wait, you just had to run out here in the middle of a fucking winter storm?" 

Leaning his head sideways to rest on the back of the sofa, Blair hugged his chest. "You're pissed." 

"I'm upset and worried. There's a difference." 

"I said I'm sorry." 

"I know, Chief. Listen. Let's put out the fire and head back to the city. I don't want to risk getting stuck out here. The roads are already pretty treacherous. We'll get your car later." 

"I don't want to go yet. I'm not finished." 

"Then we'll bring the books home. You can read them there." 

"I wanted to burn them here." 

Jim sat down on the end of the seat. "Burn them?" 

"Yeah. Sort of a ritual cleansing. I've gotten rid of a couple so far." His voice choked as he spoke, the words wet, his face haggard. "I can't believe I ever loved him." 

Jim touched his knee, the tiny shudders vibrating his palm. "I'm sorry, Chief." 

"I was so fucking stupid." 

"You were young." 

"I was stupid. He used me." 

"Is that what he says in the journals?" 

"He doesn't have to. He didn't love me like I loved him." 

"I don't know what to say, Chief." 

Blair gripped his hand, squeezing hard. "All these years he's been keeping scrapbooks about me, keeping track of my career, my writing, everything. Even you, Jim. He knew about you." 

"What do you mean he knew about me?" Jim watched the brimming tears, heard the cracking voice as he partner's anxious words filled the space between them. 

"He figured it out, man. He knew about my thing for tribal watchmen, about my dissertation topic, and he figured it out. He knew you were a sentinel, but he kept it secret." 

"Why would he do that?" 

"I don't know. When I first saw the pictures, I couldn't breathe." 

"Pictures?" 

"Of us. The two of us together. He's been taking pictures of us from the beginning." 

"Fuck." 

"That's why I have to get through these. I have to know if he ever told anybody. I don't think he did, but I have to be sure." 

Jim looked down at the piles of papers and picked up a stack of photographs, the black and whites telling the story of their daily lives together, shopping, driving, going to work, everything but shots inside the loft and the station. Shit. "These weren't taken very long ago." 

"I know. He's had someone watching us all along. I've already burned most of the pictures." 

"Why would he do that? And why didn't I know about it? I should've known we were being followed." 

Blair sat up and shuddered as he pulled his sweater together more tightly. "From what I could see, it was like some kind of chronicle, like he was keeping track of everything I did or who I was with. He had pictures of everyone I ever dated, too." 

"Shit. I hate this." 

"I know. Me, too. I have to tell you, it was a little spooky looking back over my life like that, sort of a picture journal of everything since that summer." 

Jim met his eyes, his cop alarms going off like crazy. "What else, Chief? What aren't you telling me?" 

"I don't know for sure. I haven't read but two of the journals." 

"What?" 

"I think he might have been obsessed with me." 

"No shit." 

"Jim, you don't understand. I kept asking myself, why would he care? He left me. After that, whenever we met on campus, he was like really cold and distant, like I was just another student. Sure, he gave me academic recommendations, but until Borneo, I thought he'd just dumped me and never gave a shit one way or the other." 

"And now you think what, that he was just acting? That he really cared the whole time? Why wouldn't he say something?" 

"Sidney." 

"Sidney?" 

Blair stood up and warmed his hands by the fire, his back to Jim as he spoke. "Sidney Gold. Eli's secretary when I was with him. I always wondered why Eli left like he did, and now I know why." 

"You're losing me here, Chief." 

"Sidney threatened to turn him in if he didn't leave me alone. And, he would have, too. All this time, I never had a clue." 

Jim chilled at the tone and he put the photos down before going to stand behind his lover. He wrapped his arms around his waist and ignored the slight pulling away, holding him firmly. "You sound like you're sorry about that." 

"I am, kind of. I mean, it ended badly. I wish it could've been different." 

"So you could still be with him?" 

"No. At least I don't think so. I'm just confused, man." 

"About what? Are you mad at this Sidney guy for making him leave?" 

"More shocked than mad. I didn't know. Thinking back on it, I should have guessed. Sidney hated the way Eli treated me, tried to warn me. But at the time I couldn't see anything but the great Eli Stoddard." Blair relaxed into Jim's hug and shut his eyes. "How could I've been so blind and stupid?" 

"You were young and in love. It happens." 

"It's not supposed to happen like that, not the way it did. He treated me like shit. It was my fault for letting it go on." 

"It wasn't your fault." 

"If it weren't for Sidney, I would've let him keep getting away with it, too. God, I loved him so much, man. Or I thought I did. I'm not sure anymore." Tears misted the edge of his eyes as he pulled away. He picked up the books and papers and started packing, his wounded wrist making him clumsy. "It makes me sick inside to even think about it." 

Jim put his hand on Blair's and halted his movement. "Maybe we should just leave all this for now. Go home and get some rest. We can come back for it later." 

"No, man. I have to do this. I can't let anyone else see this shit." 

Nodding, Jim helped gather the materials. By the time he finished, there were two big boxes. "Are you sure this is it?" 

"Not really, but for now, this will do. Why don't you take them on out to the truck while I put out the fire." 

"Sure thing." 

"And, Jim?" 

"What?" 

"Thanks for being here." 

"I'm always here." 

"I know. Thanks anyway." 

"You're welcome. By the way, Simon wants me to take some downtime. What do you think?" 

Blair took a deep breath and shook his head. "Okay, tell me what happened." 

"I didn't do anything, well, not anything too bad." But he smiled to himself as he saw the first traces of distraction and amusement on Blair's face. He vowed to keep them there as long as he could, to find a way to ease the gripping sadness that held his best friend and lover so tightly. 

* * *

"Son of a bitch." 

Jim looked up from his computer screen and over at his partner on the sofa. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"Yeah, right." Closing down the screen, Jim checked the clock. "Listen, it's after midnight. Why don't you put that stuff away for now and let's go to bed? You're exhausted." 

Blair took off his glasses, his face pale and haggard. "I think I have to. I can't take much more of this." 

"That bad?" 

"Yeah." He held his wounded right wrist to his chest and took a deep breath. "I think you need to change the dressing on this, too." 

"Is it hurting again?" 

"It never stopped, not really. But now there's this steady throb. I think I might have overdone it with the driving." 

"Have you taken the antibiotics?" 

"This morning." 

Jim shook his head and stood up. "You're supposed to take them three times a day, Chief." He retrieved the pills and a glass of water and took them to the couch. "Here. I'll get the dressing unless you want to shower first." 

"No, I'm fine." Blair took the medicine and then handed Jim the glass. "Thanks." 

Jim touched his forehead lightly, his face grim. "You're running a slight fever." 

"It's not bad." 

"Sit at the table and I'll change your bandages." 

Quietly, he moved and said nothing until Jim finished. As the older man cleared away and cleaned up, Blair spoke, his words hushed. "I know you're worried about me." 

"I've got reason." 

"I know. It's just that this is a really hard thing to talk about." 

"I understand that." 

"Do you?" 

Jim pulled his chair up and sat down beside him, leaning in, his hand touching his knee. "I'm not going to say I've ever been through what you have. But I have been fucked over in a lot of different ways, so I do have an idea of what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you care about." 

Nodding, Blair still avoided his eyes. "It's a terrible feeling, man, like you're dirty, you know? Like no matter what you do, you can't trust your own judgment." 

"It's hard to trust. Period." 

"Yeah, but I do trust you." His face lifted and his eyes met Jim's. "I love you. No matter what shit I pull, you have to know that." 

"Same here." Jim caressed his face gently and leaned in, their lips touching briefly, the contact like smooth smoke to his brain. "Let's go upstairs. I just want to hold you." 

"I can do holding." 

As he stood, Blair gripped his arm. "Wait." 

"What?" 

"I need you to promise me something." 

Jim studied the serious face in the low light, the shadows around his eyes and cheekbones making him seem so much older. "What?" 

"I know you. You're going to want to read all this stuff, and I have to have your word you won't do that." 

Anger rushed in, his heart slapped and recoiling. "I thought you just said you trusted me?" 

"I do, man." 

"Then why can't I read it?" 

"Eli's dead. You can't kill him twice, but if you read this shit, you're going to want to. You're angry enough without adding more to it." 

"I have a right to know what he did." 

"I told you what he did." 

"I know what you told me." 

"Then trust me, Jim. You don't want to read this." 

Rage flickered as he settled back down, the grave tone too scary. "Jesus, Blair. What the hell did he do? What did he write that you don't want me to know about?" 

"I promise to tell you. I do. But, in my own way and when I'm ready. I'm not ready yet. You've just got to bear with me enough to let me do this my way. Now, promise you won't read it." Blair touched his hand, his face drawn and serious. 

"All right. I promise." 

"Thanks." 

"Don't thank me. Just do what you have to and bury the son of bitch. I want him out of our lives. I can't stand having him between us like this." 

"He's not between us, man." 

"Yes, he is. As long as you keep his secrets, as long as you keep pushing me away, he's here." The words bit the air, his anger awake and raging again. 

Fingers traced up the side of his face as Blair leaned in. "Let's go to bed, Jim. I won't push you away." 

"But you're tired." 

"Not that tired. I love you. Let me show you." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"I want to." He kissed ever so lightly, his tongue flicking out, the heated wetness slicking Jim's lips as they parted. As he pulled back, the warm whisper puffed the air. "I love you." Then he took the older man's hand and led him upstairs to prove it. 

* * *

The dip in the mattress woke him as Blair slipped off the side of the bed, his movements furtive and quiet. "You don't have to sneak away, Chief." 

"I'm not sneaking." Blair reached over for his robe without turning around. "I just can't sleep. Thought I'd go down and read some more." 

"Sure. Why don't you fix some coffee and I'll get a shower? I need to do some final touches on the Hansen file anyway." 

Sitting back down on the bed, Blair smiled and palmed his chest lovingly. "It's only five o'clock, Jim. Go back to sleep and I'll wake you in a few hours. I'm fine. Really." 

Jim took his hand and held it over his heart. "You have no idea how much I want to believe that." 

"What? That I'm fine?" 

"You say it, but your eyes tell a different story." 

The younger man's face softened as he leaned his body over Jim's, rubbing his cheek to his, the overnight whiskers rough and burning. He rested his head against Jim's chest before he spoke, the words taut but steady. "Okay. Truth is, I'm not fine. But I will be. As long as I've got you, then I can get through this." 

Cupping the back of his lover's head, Jim pulled him even closer. " _We_ can get through this. You're not alone here." 

"I know that." As he sat up, he tilted his head while he patted Jim's face. "Now, go back to sleep for a few hours. If you're driving into work in this mess, I don't want you nodding off at the wheel." 

"Are you staying home today?" 

"For awhile. Mags is picking me up around noon. I need to do some things at the university and then I'm going to see Silver." 

"Stoddard's lawyer?" 

"Yeah. I need to know how to turn the estate over to charity with the least amount of hassle after it goes through probate." 

Jim sat up and pulled the covers up over his waist, his mind no longer foggy from sleep. "When did you decide this?" 

"Last night." 

"Sounds like a good plan. Do you know which charity?" 

Blair stood up and pushed back his hair as he put on his glasses. "I thought I could split it between the local children's shelter and the Police Widow's and Orphan's fund. They always need resources." 

"Yeah, they do. That's a really nice idea, Blair. I like it." 

"Might as well put the bastard's money to good use. I sure as hell don't want it." 

The vehemence of the words focused Jim's attention on his lover's pained and angry expression. "Are you going to work in an appointment with Doyle today?" 

"I don't have time. Maybe tomorrow." 

"You didn't go yesterday, either." 

Annoyed, Blair headed to the stairs. "I'll see him when I get a chance. It's not like I'm some head case. Now, drop it, okay?" 

"Seeing Doyle doesn't mean you're a head case, Blair. Nobody thinks that. It's just that I saw him yesterday and it made me feel better. I just think you should do the daily sessions like you and Doyle first agreed. You've got a lot to deal with." 

"And I'm handling it." 

"I know, but..." 

"Jim. Enough." 

Before Jim could protest, Blair stormed down the stairs, the slam of the bathroom door soon to follow. Settling back down under the blanket, he realized the cold permeating his bones came from more than the frosty winter kissing the windows. 

* * *

Shaking off the melted snow, the water dripped to the floor as Jim draped his coat over the rack. "God, I hate winter." 

"You're sounding more and more like Sandy every day, Jim." 

"Conner?" He turned to find himself facing his smiling friend. "I thought you were taking time off." 

"I am, but I just had to come and check on a few things before I make some final arrangements." 

"So, this wedding thing is actually going to happen, huh?" 

"You bet, detective. Bought the rings just yesterday." She stepped closer, her hand on Jim's sleeve. "So, how's Sandy?" 

He sat at his desk, his thumb rubbing his own gold band while his mind replayed Blair's cold reserve at his morning departure from the loft. "He's doing okay." 

"I've tried calling, but he hasn't returned any of my messages." 

"He wasn't home yesterday." He leaned back, his hand to his chin. "So, has your dad gotten in town yet?" 

"He got in Saturday. And don't change the subject. I called your place just a few minutes ago and there's still no answer." 

Jim massaged his forehead, the ache in his head more an annoyance than real pain. "Look, he's probably at the university. He had some things to take care of." 

"In this weather? Should he be out yet?" 

"Megan, look, I know you mean well, but he's going to be fine. I'll tell him to call when he gets back in." 

Sitting in the chair next to the desk, Megan stared at him, her expression serious and determined. "I know that, Jim. It's just I also know this isn't easy, for him or for you." 

"I'm fine." 

"Really? Simon told me about your little tanty in the bullpen yesterday." 

"Big mouth." 

"It's a beautiful mouth. Talented, too." 

He glanced up to catch the playful gleam in her eyes and had the courtesy to cough as the heat flushed his face. "You're an evil influence, Megan Conner." 

She grew more serious and leaned in. "I just wanted you and Sandy to know that if you need to talk, you can call me. I had a friend who went through this. It was rough for awhile, and not just for her, but for her partner, too. It nearly broke them apart before they finally got help." 

The sincere tone and softness of her voice touched him as he fought the sting of truth blurring his vision. "I appreciate that, Megan. But we're seeing Dr. Doyle. We'll get through this. You don't have to worry." 

"I know, but it never hurts to have back up." 

"A true cop talking." 

"That's inspector to you." 

"Man, Simon is going to have his hands full." 

Her laugh rang through the entire bullpen before she edged forward and whispered, "He already does, Jim." 

* * *

Blair stood by his desk, stock still, his hand to his head trying to remember what the hell he needed for the week's classes. The knock on the door brought his head up. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm Lorraine Grace of the Channel 8 news. I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time." 

He noted the camera man behind her and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't give interviews. The case is still pending." 

"I'm not here about the Reardon case." 

Blair sat down and took in the young woman's TV homogenized features, blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth for an artificial smile. "Doesn't matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get ready for some classes." 

"Is it true that Dr. Eli Stoddard left you his estate and that you're going to be in charge of distributing the remainder of his valuable collection to the university?" 

Anger boiled up and he wanted to curse. Instead, he kept his voice steady and his face neutral, thankful for his years with the Ellison school of keeping one's cool under pressure. "Do you speak English? I just said I don't give interviews." 

"What was your relationship with Dr. Stoddard?" 

"I want you to leave, Ms. Grace." 

"Why won't you answer the question?" She stepped further inside the office, the camera rolling. Blair stood up, his injured arm held to his chest as he kept his mouth shut and hurried past her into the hallway. "Were you aware that his estate is worth several million dollars? Come on, Mr. Sandburg, help us out here. Is it true you were once his live in companion?" 

As she moved in behind him, the microphone and camera shoved into his face, he pushed back in a panic. "Get the fuck away from me." The air thickened and swam up in a blast of heat as he stumbled back against the wall, the world closing black around him. "Just leave me alone." 

A familiar voice called from a nearby doorway. "What the hell's going on here?" 

"I'm just trying to get a statement." 

Much to the camera man's dismay, Mags reached up and switched off the video and sound gear. "Get out of here. Now. Before I call security. You've got no right to be here." 

"Ever heard of freedom of the press?" 

"Ever heard of getting bitch slapped?" 

Stunned, the young woman huffed and stood up straighter. "We have a right to information. Mr. Sandburg..." 

"Has just gotten out of the hospital after a vicious attack. Now, leave." 

Blair steadied himself against the wall, watching the whole power play. He couldn't help but smile at his friend's heroic fierceness. It reminded him so much of Jim with his best pitbull manner. 

"I'll be back." 

"Like a toothache, no doubt." 

Gathering up her dignity and one man crew, Grace headed out the front door without another word. 

"Thanks, Mags." 

A hand gripped his arm as the older woman helped him back to his office. "You look terrible." 

"I'm just a little dizzy. I wasn't expecting that." 

"You're going to look great on the news. Better set the recorder. Think they'll bleep out the fuck part?" 

"Shit." He settled down in his chair, his head down to ease the faintness. "Jim's going to kill me." 

"Why, dear? It sounded just like something he'd say." 

"Because I'm supposed to be the level-headed one." 

"She caught you off guard. Don't worry about it." She sat down beside him before she spoke. "Is it true? Did Stoddard leave you everything?" 

"Yeah." 

"Damn." 

Looking up, he met her concerned eyes. "What?" 

"Then your troubles are just beginning." 

"Why's that?" 

"The powers that be are going to want a big piece of you as soon as they can get it. That collection alone is worth a small fortune." 

"I know, but that's not going to be a problem. They can have the whole thing as soon as I sort through it. I don't want it." 

"But that's not the only thing." 

"What?" 

"Don't think Stoddard made his fortune doing good deeds for primitive tribes. People are going want to know what he told you." 

Shaking his head, Blair leaned back and closed his eyes again. "He didn't tell me anything. All I've got are a bunch of journals. I've barely spoken to him since I was fifteen." 

"Fifteen?" 

"Yeah." 

"I should've figured that." A cool hand lightly touched his face before he could ask her what she meant. "You've got a fever. I'm taking you home." 

"I'm okay. Just give me a minute. I need to go talk to Silver." 

"You're going home. You'll talk to the lawyer some other day. Now, come on." 

Sighing in surrender, Blair stood up, his hand on the desk to steady himself. As they walked out together, Mags whispered, "If I were you, hon, I'd burn those journals without reading them. It'd be a lot safer." 

Blair didn't bother to look up, knowing full well that he'd burned her name from one of Eli's pages that very morning, the gritty ashes joining with so many others before turning to vapor and flame. 

* * *

Jim walked into the loft, his breathing rapid, his body revved up. "Where is he?" 

"He's upstairs." Mags put the book down and took off her glasses. "I didn't want to leave him alone right now." 

"Thanks. I'll check him out and see about getting him in to the doctor." 

"He won't go." 

"He will if I carry his stubborn ass over there." 

The older woman smiled as she stood and picked up her purse. "Be patient, Jim. He's had a hard day. That bitch from Channel 8 news needs her skinny little ass kicked." 

"Did she say how she found out about the inheritance?" 

"No, but you know a thing like that becomes public record pretty quickly. The university's going to be on him in no time. Just be careful." 

"I will. Thanks." 

As soon as she left, he went up the stairs to find Blair lying there, huddled under the covers, but not sleeping, his flushed face beaded with sweat. Kneeling by the bed, Jim palmed his forehead. "What's going on, Chief?" 

"Nothing good. I feel terrible." 

"Think we should take a trip to the ER?" 

"For a fever? No. I just need to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I can't seem to settle down." He shuddered slightly before he added, "Man, I don't think I've ever been this tired." 

"Let me check your bandages. You could have an infection. Sit up for me." 

Awkwardly, Blair moved and scooted back against the stack of pillows, pulling the top blanket up with him. "It's cold in here." 

"No, it's not. That's just the fever." Jim removed the brace and noted the increased heat from the wounded wrist and the discolored seepage around the bandage. The putrid smell nearly gagged him as he worked to keep his voice neutral. "I think we need to get to the doctor. Looks like the antibiotics aren't working. Might need to switch or go for a bigger dose." 

"Couldn't we just call it in?" 

"I can ask, but I'm sure Astor's going to want to see you." 

"Fuck." 

"We should ask him for something to help you sleep, too." 

"I don't need any pills. I just need a break from all this shit for awhile." 

Jim put the brace back on and kissed his forehead as he hugged him. "The shit's not going anywhere, Chief. But you need to sleep. It's been awhile since you've gotten any rest." 

Leaning into the embrace, Blair relaxed in his arms. "I'm trying. My head just won't quit." 

"I know." Jim stood up and eased Blair back down on the bed. "Just take it easy while I call the doctor and see what he wants us to do." 

"Okay." Blair's eyes closed, his breathing still labored, his face flushed and unnaturally ruddy. 

Going back downstairs, Jim ignored the dozens of messages on the machine and called the surgeon's office. He used his worse bark and military voice to get through to the actual doctor. "Listen, he's burning up and there's a bloody, yellowish discharge. He's taken the antibiotics, but they don't seem to be doing the job. His fingers and hand are swollen, too." 

"Get him in here as soon as you can. I want to see him before I give him anything else. Infections aren't unheard of, but with the meds he's on, this shouldn't be a problem, especially with an acute onset." 

"I'll be there in less than an hour." 

He hung up and dialed the station. "Simon, Blair's sick. I'm taking him to the doctor. I was supposed to meet with Reardon's lawyer at three. Could you call and either set it up for tomorrow and see if he's really serious about using Blair for his case?" 

"We already know he is, but I'll call him and see what I can do." 

"Thanks." 

"Tell the kid I hope he feels better." His friend paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "Jim, have you seen the afternoon edition of the paper yet?" 

"No, why?" 

"I think you should take a look. There's an article about Stoddard and Sandburg." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, and it's sort of hinting that there was more than an academic relationship." 

"Oh, hell, where the fuck do they get this shit?" 

"I don't know, but you'd better check it out. I'll hold the fort here. I've been fielding phone calls ever since you left." 

Jim rubbed his forehead with one hand while he squeezed his eyes shut. "Full denial, captain." 

"You've got it." 

Hanging up the phone, he saw the frantic blinking light on the machine and shook his head. Blair didn't need this. They didn't need this. Fuck. Why couldn't Stoddard just die and let it be over? 

* * *

"No way am I going back to the damn hospital." 

"You want to lose the hand, maybe even your life? The infection's spreading." 

Blair swallowed hard as Astor still held his arm, his face stern and not the least bit fazed by his reaction. "No." 

"Then trust me. For whatever reason, the antibiotic I'm giving you isn't working and this has gone septic. I need to admit you for observation and start an immediate IV to get this under control." 

"But can't you just give me a shot or something?" 

"If I could, I would. Believe me, Mr. Sandburg, the insurance company would love that, too. But, no, that's not going to work here." 

"I need to go home and get some things first." 

"You have to let Detective Ellison or someone else do that. I'll get my nurse to make the arrangements." He finished wrapping the bandage and then headed out the door. 

A few minutes after he left, Jim entered the room with his papers, his face anxious. "I'm supposed to drive you to the hospital. You ready?" 

"I really don't want to do this." 

"No option." 

"I know." Getting off the table, he wobbled before Jim caught him. "Sorry. I'm a little dizzy." 

"Just sit down and I'll help you on with your shirt." 

Without speaking, he sat there, Jim dressing him like a child. His thoughts fuzzed and muted as he tried to figure out why he couldn't think straight. 

"Chief? You still with me?" 

"Yeah." 

"Almost finished." 

Strong hands helped him to his feet and arms wrapped around his waist to steady his gait. Air shimmered and the heat fuzzed his eyeballs, nothing clear as Jim guided him through the office and down to the parking garage. Strapped inside the truck, he took a deep breath trying to tame words with a swollen and awkward tongue. "Where are we going again?" 

"To the hospital." 

"I want to go home." 

"I know you do, and we will after you're better." 

Blair rested his feverish skin against the cool glass, the contrast shocking but delicious. "Eli was blackmailing half the university." 

"What?" 

"He was. And, now I know things I never wanted to know about people I've known for ages. I hate this." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"The journals. You know I told you not to read them?" 

"Yeah." 

"I was wrong. I wasn't the only one he fucked over. I think Eli was murdered." 

"So, you're saying I should read them?" 

"Yeah." He slipped a little further down, pulling his jacket up and around his neck, the world so chilly and dismal, swirling into a murky grey. "I think I'm going to pass out now, okay?" 

"Shit." 

* * *

Jim waited anxiously by the bedside while his partner lay sleeping, his vitals monitored, an IV line in and dripping. He walked over to the window, staring out into the lonely night, the wind picking up swirls of snow and making peaks and ridges along the crystalline edges of the trees. Turning at the opening door, he saw his captain, his grim face not the least bit happy. "Simon." 

"Jim. How's he doing?" 

"He had a temperature spike of 105, but it's back down to 102 and they're working to get the infection under control." 

Simon stood still for a moment, looking down nervously. "It's strange to see him so quiet." 

"They've got him sedated. He thought we were all Michael Reardon trying to cut his hands off. Put up quite a fight." 

"Dear god." 

"Yeah." He closed his eyes and used both hands to scrub his face, his whiskers scratching a slow burn into his palms. Meeting Simon's worried eyes, he shrugged. "I'm okay." 

"Are you?" 

"As well as I can be considering the shit that's going on, yeah." 

"You read the paper and saw the news, then?" 

"Yeah, but I'm more concerned with Blair getting better. The rest is just shit we'll deal with later." 

Simon stepped closer, his voice low and steady, his hand on Jim's arm. "We're all behind you. This thing with Stoddard and the inheritance, well, that'll be news for about a minute. Blair can deal with that. I'm worried about Reardon's lawyer though. He's a first class bastard. He's going to do everything he can to distract the focus away from his client to Paul Donovan. I've got a bad feeling about what he might try to do to make his case." 

"Like what?" 

"I don't know, but he was asking about whether Sandburg was gay and if he might have led the Donovan kid on." 

"What?" Jim leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed. "That's bullshit." 

"I know that. Everyone else who knows Blair will, too, but I'm just telling you what he's fishing for." 

"Son of a bitch." 

"Well, considering he's defending someone like Reardon, that's not surprising." 

Jim turned back to the window, his mind raving for justice. "This isn't right, Simon. You know that." 

"Yeah, I know. We're covering all the bases, Jim. Blair was never with Donovan alone except at the end when he was attacked. There's nothing to support any claim of inappropriate conduct. And, Blair doesn't have to say anything at all about being gay." 

"But we both know it's an issue. If it comes up, saying nothing is the same as admitting it. We're being outed by this shit and you know it." 

"I know. Getting outed could lead to some complications, but you'd still have a job. There's no way the brass would move against you." 

"Not in the open, anyway. We both know how it works, Simon." 

"Yeah, well, the main thing now is just to get him well. We'll deal with everything else when we have to." Simon paused and took a deep breath. "Is there anything I can do?" 

"Yeah. There's a box of notebooks at the loft. It's by the fireplace in the corner. Could you bring it here?" 

"Notebooks?" 

"Stoddard wrote some personal journals. I need to read them and I don't want to leave Blair right now." 

"Sure. I can do that. Anything else?" 

"Not unless you can put a hit out on Reardon for me." 

"Don't even kid about shit like that." 

Jim didn't answer as he stepped to the bed and took his lover's hand, the young man's face drawn and wasted. Standing there focused on Blair, he didn't bother to worry about the concern aimed his way. He only cared about his partner, his guide, the man who kept him anchored in the stormy world with his precious and sacred breathing. 

* * *

Looking up as he turned the page, Jim met sleepy, drug-dazed eyes and a weak smile. "Hey, Jim." 

"Hey." He closed the journal and scooted forward. "How you feeling?" 

"Cotton for brains. Everything's soft and fuzzy." He opened his mouth several times, his tongue running along his dry lips. "I'm thirsty." Jim got up and pushed the button to raise the head of the bed slightly before pouring some water into a glass. Holding the straw, he steadied Blair's hand as he drank. A few sips later the younger man's head fell back as he closed his eyes. "Tastes funny." 

"It's the drugs." 

"Probably." He pushed the glass away and kept his eyes shut while he spoke. "Am I better yet?" 

"Better than you were, not well enough to go home." 

"Too bad. Think I could sleep now." 

"You've been sleeping all night." 

"Good drugs." 

"Apparently." 

"Man, I don't think I've ever been this high before." 

"And let's hope you never will be again." Jim watched his partner shift to his side and pull up his knees under the sheets and blanket as his face rubbed the pillow. His dark curls sprang out wild from the tie at the back of his neck and his skin glistened with sweat. 

"I'm feeling pretty good actually." 

"I'll bet." 

"You're just jealous because you're sober." 

"Maybe." Jim sat back down and rested his chin on his upraised hand, relieved at the improved condition. 

Blair took several deep breaths before he opened his eyes and cleared his throat, his words still sluggish and slurred. "Did you read the journals yet?" 

"The ones you hadn't burned, yeah." 

"And?" 

"And you were right. I want to kill the son of a bitch all over again." He locked his rage down, but the words carried the aftershock, the stunning hatred he carried for the man called Stoddard. 

"I figured, but what do you think? Do you think one of the people he blackmailed could've killed him?" 

"Any or all of them could have. But, what difference does it make? He died in Borneo. That's a little out of my jurisdiction even if I bothered to give a shit." 

"I know. But he didn't die alone, Jim. There were five other people on that plane. What if someone sabotaged it?" 

Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Even if someone did, there's no way to know. Let it go. We've got enough trouble without digging for more." 

"What trouble?" 

Standing up, Jim leaned against the raised rail of the bed, taking Blair's good hand in his. "It doesn't matter right now. You just need to get well and we'll worry about Stoddard and the other stuff later." 

Blair's eyes opened a little wider as he struggled to sit up more. "Tell me what's going on. Is it that Grace woman from the news? Sic Mags on her. She'll whip her ass good." 

"Don't worry about it. I need you to focus on getting well. When you're out of here, we'll go see Silver and find out what to do about all this mess." Jim caressed his cheek before he kissed him and then whispered, "You scared me here, Chief. Don't do that anymore." 

Relaxing against the pillow, Blair settled down, sleepy again. "I promise, man. Just don't let anyone cut me while I'm out, okay?" 

"What?" 

"I dreamed Reardon was trying to get to me, to gut me like he did those poor kids." 

His chest tight, Jim traced his fingers along his trembling jaw. "It was just a bad dream, Chief. You're safe here. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not ever again." 

As his lover drifted off to sleep, Jim drank in the haunting whispers that taunted him, the ravings that he could never keep his promise, never keep his guide safe from the evil gaining power and ground all around them. Clenching his jaw, his eyes narrowed, he vowed to be ready, to be the soldier and the protector Blair knew him to be. 

* * *

"Hey, Jim, why are you sitting out here all alone, man?" Daryl plopped himself down beside him as he talked. 

"Blair's having his blood drawn and some other nasty things done. He doesn't like me to be in there." 

"How come?" 

"Something about saving his manly image." 

"Bullshit, huh?" 

"Something like that." Daryl nodded as if he'd solved the greatest mystery the world. "So, did you come to see Blair?" 

"Yeah, and you. I heard my dad talking about all the shit that serial killer's lawyer's trying to pull. That's not right." 

"No, it's not." Jim put his coffee down on the table beside him and turned, his voice more hushed. "Listen, Daryl, let's keep this thing about the lawyer just between us for now. I don't want Blair to worry about that while he's in here." 

"He doesn't know?" 

"No, and I want to keep it that way until I can straighten it out." 

"Okay." Daryl paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Does he know what they're saying about him and that Stoddard guy on the news?" 

"Not yet." 

"Shit, man, you're going to have to tell him. He's going to get sucker punched if you don't." 

"Why? They don't know anything about him and Stoddard. He just inherited some money. That's all." 

"Come on, man. I'm not some punkass kid. A man just doesn't leave a fortune to somebody for no reason. They're saying they were a couple once. Is that true?" 

"It doesn't matter. It's nobody's business." 

"But the guy was old. Why would Blair be with him like that?" 

Jim stood up, his hands fisted, his mind blazing. "Leave it alone, Daryl. They don't have a right to be saying anything they don't know shit about." 

"I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to upset you." 

"I don't want you to say anything to Blair about this." 

"I won't." Daryl motioned with his head at the chair. "Come on. Sit back down. I need to ask you something else." 

"What?" 

"Sit down first." 

Reluctantly, Jim settled again, his mind buzzing. "What's going on?" 

"Promise not to get too mad?" 

"Depends." 

"Look, it's about my dad's wedding." 

"What about it?" 

Daryl looked away, his hands held together tightly in his lap. "I was wondering if you think he'd mind if I brought a date." 

"A date? No, I think he'd be fine with that, but you could always ask him." 

"It's just that I don't want to spoil his wedding or anything, but I really want to ask this person to come with me to meet the family. I'm just worried that it might not be the best time to do that." 

"Why? Are you afraid the family won't approve of the person?" 

"Something like that." He glanced around before he leaned in and whispered. "I know you and Blair would be cool, but my grandparents, well, they might stroke out." 

"Who do you want to bring?" 

"His name's Morgan Davis. We've been seeing each other for a couple of months now." 

Jim kept his face neutral and marveled at his lover's skill at guessing human nature. "So, you're asking me if you should come out at your father's wedding?" 

"Do you think it'd be fair?" 

"I think you should talk to him first, but I'm thinking he'd probably be fine with it." 

"You really think so?" 

"Yeah, I do. Your dad loves you. He's only going to care about the prejudice you'll face." 

"Yeah, I know. Even from my own family." 

"Maybe." 

Daryl took a deep breath of relief and met his eyes. "How did your dad react when you told him about you and Blair?" 

Jim put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I've never told him." 

"Never?" 

"Not everybody has a dad like you've got." He squeezed gently before standing. "I've got to go check on Blair. Give me a minute and then I'll stick my head out so you can come in, okay?" 

"Sure. And, Jim, thanks." 

"For what?" 

"For being so cool about it." 

"Might as well be. It's my life, too." 

* * *

"It's weird, Jim." 

"What?" 

"I don't remember much about the last few days. Don't you think that's weird?" Blair stared up at the ceiling while he talked, his voice airy and light, still not completely sober. 

Jim put the journal down and moved to the bed, drawing the younger man's attention back to reality. "You've been drugged to the gills, Chief, so no, it's not that weird." 

"Feels weird." Blair brushed his fingers along the ridges of Jim's knuckles, a slight smile on his face. "I'm feeling better, though. My insides have stopped shaking." 

"That's good. Shaky insides suck." He smiled as he took Blair's hand and squeezed lightly. "Glad to have you back." 

"Tell me about it." Blair shifted upward and then pushed the button to raise the head of the bed. "So, when do you think I can get out of here?" 

"Don't know yet, but it shouldn't be too long. The infection's gone." 

"Yeah? How do you know that?" 

"I can smell it. When you were sick, there was this distinctive odor and now it's gone." 

"Gross." 

"Yeah, well, at least I know you're on the mend." 

Blair settled back against the pillow, his head tilted, his hair sticking to white cloth. "So, is Daryl really going to come out at the wedding?" 

"I thought you said you didn't remember?" 

"Well, I remember that much. Has he told Simon yet?" 

"I don't think so." 

"He needs to, man. That's not something to sneak in at the last minute like that. It could be a huge scene." 

"I know." 

"Keeping secrets just causes more problems, but timing can make a big difference to a lot of people." 

"I think he's waiting for one of us to volunteer to be there when he tells him." 

"Oh, man." Blair took a deep breath and stretched his left arm and shoulder before he spoke. "Maybe we could invite them both over for a dinner and he could tell them then." 

"Them?" 

"Yeah, Simon and Megan. She's family now, too. Plus, we both know she's a sympathizer. It might help." 

Jim turned and pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat down, his body weary from the long hours of waiting. "We could do that, if that's what Daryl wants. To be honest, I think he should do it on his own, just him and Simon." 

"Why?" 

"They're father and son. They should be able to talk." 

"Maybe. But, you of all people know how hard it is to tell a father you're gay." 

"Don't start, Chief. We've talked about this." The anger only flickered briefly, the argument an old one. "It's none of his business." 

"He's your father." 

"So? Where was he for fifteen years after I left? Where was he when I got back from Peru? Did I even get a single phone call or letter? I got nothing. Besides, I know what he'd say. Fags are just another kind of freak in his world." 

"You don't know that for sure, Jim. When you saw him that last time, he acted like he wanted things to be different. He really seemed sorry." 

Jim closed his eyes against his own pain, his own labor to fight off the desire to share Blair's hope. Life taught him a whole different lesson about fathers, and he couldn't forget it and be swayed. He didn't trust his father's love and couldn't find the strength to change that. "Like I said, leave it alone." 

"Sure. Okay." 

Jim opened his eyes to find his lover staring at him, his sad blue eyes focused and clear. "I just can't, Blair. He wouldn't understand." 

"It's okay, Jim." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. We've all got things we don't like to talk about, things that make us uncomfortable. With you it's family." 

"And with you it's Stoddard." 

"Yeah." Blair shifted to his side and spoke quietly through the slats. "I'm sorry about asking you to read the journals. That had to be hard." 

Jim snorted and shook his head. "No harder than you having to live it. I mean, this guy was a piece of work." 

"I don't know the man in the journals, Jim." 

"He certainly knew you. Practically everything you ever did shows up. Every person you dated, every class you took, every job. The world of Blair Sandburg by way of Eli Stoddard. And, god, he sure as hell hated my ass." 

"I know. He was jealous. It's creepy." 

"Creepy's one word for it. Obsessed might be a better one. But at least as far I can tell, he kept the sentinel thing a secret, at least on paper." 

"Good, because I was worried about that." 

Jim swallowed hard before he spoke again, his voice a hushed whisper. "Blair, he talks about what happened that night with you and Thomas." 

"What?" Blair sat up, his face suddenly pale. "I burned that one." 

"I know. You burned the first half of the journals, but he talks about it again in a couple of places later on. The son of bitch writes about it like it was some kind of goddamn perfect fantasy. The bastard probably got off on it." He fisted both hands together. "I wanted to rip his fucking head off when I read that." 

Looking up, he found Blair lying on his back quietly, his eyes closed, his breathing too fast. "I'm sorry." 

"It's this Stoddard fuck who should be sorry. Not you." 

Blair turned his head away from Jim, and pulled up the sheets. "He's dead, Jim. Let it go." 

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" 

"I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't." The words came out weak and tired as Blair's body shook. 

Standing, Jim stroked the side of his face, his palm caressing his cheek. "I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to get so pissed off. I'm not mad at you. Don't think that." 

"It's okay." 

"No, it's not, I just hate thinking about what happened to you." 

"It was a long time ago." 

"Doesn't matter. It still hurts you, and that hurts me." He leaned forward on the rail, and gently rubbed up and down Blair's good arm. "Why don't you get some sleep? We don't need to work this all out now." 

"Do me a favor first." 

"What?" 

"Take the rest of the journals and burn them." 

"But you haven't read them yet." 

"I don't want to. Burn them." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Everything he wrote was poison. We don't need that in our lives." 

"Destroying them won't change what's in them." 

"I want a clean break, Jim. I don't know any other way to get started." 

"Then consider them ashes." 

* * *

Simon paced in the hospital hallway, one hand on his hip, the other massaging his forehead. "What's going on, Simon?" 

The captain took Jim's arm and drew him further from the door before he spoke, his words tight and anxious. "We've got problems." 

"What problems?" 

"Your place was broken into last night." 

"What?" 

"As far as we can tell, nothing was taken, but the lock was broken and the place a mess. There was a pretty thorough search." 

"Damn." Jim leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, a long list of possible suspects running through his head. 

"That's not all." Simon shook his head, glancing back to Blair's door. 

"Brown went out to Stoddard's place like you asked to get the Volvo. The house had been searched just like yours. That place is full of valuable artifacts and, as far as we can tell, nothing was stolen." 

"Any ideas?" 

"You tell me. What the hell was in those notebooks you had me bring over?" 

"Plenty of motive for someone to want them." 

"I don't like this." 

"Did you get prints?" 

"I've got a team on it. The thing is, if it's some academic worried about whatever Stoddard wrote, chances are we're not going to find a match. Not many of the people at the university have a record." 

Simon paused and stepped closer, his voice even lower. "I'm worried here, Jim. This thing with Stoddard, well, that's bad with the break ins, but I'm more concerned with the Reardon mess. His lawyer's pressing to see Sandburg just as soon as he's out of the hospital. Do you think he'll be up for it?" 

"He shouldn't have to be." 

"You've got no argument from me, but this thing's moving like a steam roller. I think you should get a good lawyer to push back." 

Nodding, Jim stood straighter. "I'm working on that. I called Marshall Caldwell." 

"Caldwell from the Timmons case?" 

"Yeah. He knows about Reardon and I've asked him to come see Blair. I want him to run interference." 

"He's good, but he's expensive." 

"I don't care what it takes, Simon. If Blair has to testify, he's not going to be raked over the coals by some asshole trying to make points by attacking my partner. I'm a good cop, but I'm no lawyer. I need someone on this to watch our backs." 

"I think that's a good call." He motioned toward the door with his head. "Have you told him about it yet?" 

"No, but he's going to find out soon enough. The doctor said we could go home this afternoon. You think forensics can be out of there by then?" 

"Already done. Megan ran the cleaning crew and had the locks changed, too. I'll bring the keys over before you leave. Everything's pretty much back the way it was. I can't say the same for Stoddard's place. They really turned it over, especially the bedroom and library. A lawyer named Silver's in charge of that." 

"I know. I'll call him later. Did Brown get the car?" 

"Yeah. It's back at your place. They broke in the trunk, though. It's going to need to be repaired. Brown's got it wired shut." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah. Whoever was looking for those journals didn't want to miss any possibilities. So, Jim, where are they now?" 

"They're gone." 

"Gone?" 

"Burned." 

"You're kidding, right?" 

"No. They legally belonged to Blair. He asked me to burn them, so I did. Went to the incinerator last night." 

"You realize they might be evidence in a criminal investigation?" 

"Not anymore. I'm hoping that'll end it. Without the journals, there's no real threat. Anything we might have read is just hearsay. All the people Stoddard blackmailed are off the hook, at least from that route." 

"But do they know that?" 

"They will before long." 

"How?" 

"The university has the fastest rumor mill around, Simon. I tell one person, and by tomorrow, everyone's going to know." 

Taking a deep breath, Simon shook his head. "I hope so. I've got a bad feeling about all this. I don't like the way things keep getting more and more complicated and the damn press doesn't help. I can't believe all the shit they're spewing. How's Blair handling it?" 

"He doesn't know yet." 

"What?" 

"I've been keeping it quiet. I'll tell him later." 

"Shit, Jim. We've been down this road before. You can't keep him in the dark on this. Tell him before he finds out what they're saying. Somebody sticks another microphone in his face, he needs to be ready." 

"That's not going to happen. Anyone who gets near him will have to go through me first." 

"Oh, lord." Simon squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple again as Jim walked away, his shoulders back and his spirit ready for battle. 

* * *

Blair stood up, his balance still less than steady and moved to the chair. He leaned over to put on his shoes while Jim fussed with the packing. "What do you want to do with all these flowers?" 

"I don't know, man. Tell the nurse to give them to some of the other patients, I guess." 

"All of them?" 

"Might as well." 

"What about the balloons?" 

"Children's ward." 

"Cards?" 

"Suitcase. I need to write some thank you notes when I get a little more together." 

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed as he watched Blair finally tie his right shoe. The yellowed bruising on his face faded, he almost looked like himself except for the frown and the long scab on his left temple. "You okay?" 

"Who knew it took so much energy to tie a damn shoe lace?" 

Sliding off the bed, Jim kneeled and did up the other shoe before Blair could protest. "There. I'll go tell the nurse about the flowers and then get the wheelchair." 

A hand stopped him from standing back up right away. "Have I told you how much I love you?" 

"Just this morning." Jim kissed his hand and then stood. "And I never get tired of hearing it. I love you, too. Now, let's blow this joint, want to?" 

"Oh, yeah." 

"Then sit still and I'll get our wheels." 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

Jim turned from the door to see those intense eyes staring him down, daring him to keep lying. He stopped and walked back to the bed and sat down. "How'd you know?" 

"I know you. Plus, Simon was acting weird, too. Then, you wouldn't let me watch any TV or read anything all day. So, what am I walking into?" 

"Anybody ever tell you, you'd make a pretty good detective?" 

"I'm not a cop, remember? And, stalling won't help." 

Shifting uncomfortably, Jim nodded. "Okay, two things. First the Stoddard mess is in the news. Somehow they not only know about the inheritance, but they're saying you had a relationship when you were an undergrad." 

"And?" 

"What do you mean and?" Jim watched as Blair leaned forward in the chair, his face anxious, but not wild or flushed. 

"I already knew that's where they were headed. It's not that big a secret, though my name's just one of a long list of many." 

"Jesus. How did this guy get away with this shit for so long?" 

"Because he was good at what he did. His name brought worldwide prestige and grants to the university and as he put it, he 'knew where the bodies were buried'." 

"So, it doesn't bother you that they're saying that sleeping with him is why you got the money?" 

Blair took a deep breath and leaned back, his eyes focused at the world outside the window. "I didn't say that. Of course, it bothers me. It's none of their damn business and besides, we both know it wasn't like what they're saying. Nothing at all like that." The last sentence came out low and breathy, a little more choked than the rest. 

After a few moments, Jim asked, "You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Pushing back his hair, he met his eyes. "What else?" 

"Reardon's lawyer wants a statement about what happened with Donovan." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, well, I've called a lawyer about that. I'm doing everything I can to keep that from happening." 

"Can you do that?" Blair put his face in his hands, his voice muffled. "I don't want to talk about it, Jim. Besides, Paul didn't tell me anything that would help Reardon. Hell, if anything, it would make it worse." 

"What do you mean?" 

He lifted his head, his face drawn and tight. "Sure, he admitted to killing Bobby and hurting the others, but he also said it was because Reardon made him do it. I believed him. The boy was totally fucked up, Jim. His whole world revolved around Reardon and his approval." 

"Until you came along." 

"Yeah." Blair sat up a little straighter, the panic gone from his voice. "Reardon's lawyer does _not_ want me to make a statement." 

"That's not the whole story, Chief." 

"There's more?" 

"He's trying to make out that you led the kid on." 

"Son of a bitch. You know that's not true." 

"Of course, I do. I just wanted to warn you." 

Sighing, Blair shook his head. "So, you've been keeping this all to yourself for the last few days?" 

"You were sick. You needed to focus on getting better." 

"Thanks." 

"You're not pissed?" 

Blair smiled, his face no longer quite as tense. "I should be. I usually hate when you do that over protective deal, but..." 

"But?" 

"But, to be honest, I don't think I could've dealt with it very well a few days ago." He paused and wagged a warning finger, his voice suddenly more stern. "But don't try this shit again, okay? You just got lucky this time." 

Grinning as he stood, relieved that he didn't have to worry about his lover's wrath on top of everything else, Jim headed for the door. "I sure did, Chief. Now, let's hit the road." 

"Can we stop for Chinese?" 

"You finally hungry?" 

"Starved." 

"Chinese it is, then." 

* * *

Jim almost laughed out loud as his friend fell back on the couch as he worked awkwardly to unfasten his belt buckle. "God, I'm so full. Why did you let me eat like a pig, man?" 

"It was good to see you eating again." 

Rubbing his belly through the flannel, his eyes closed, Blair complained. "I was so hungry. Guess I overdid it a little. Feel like my belly's going to pop." 

"Now, there's a pretty picture." Jim locked the door and smiled as he watched his lover stretch out and turn over to get more comfortable, pulling the blanket down to cover himself. The place looked mostly normal, only a few things out of place. Maybe Blair wouldn't notice. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Who's been here?" 

"What do you mean?" 

He lay on his side glancing around the loft, his eyes taking in the whole room as he spoke. "I don't know. Feels like things have been moved. Did you do some heavy cleaning while I was out of it?" 

"It's no big deal." 

"Shit." Blair twisted his neck more to lift his head to meet Jim's guilty eyes. "What else didn't you tell me?" 

"We had a little break in last night. Nothing serious. We think they wanted the notebooks." 

"Fuck." 

"Stoddard's place was tossed, too." 

"Man, when is this thing going to stop?" 

Jim put his coat on the rack and went to the sofa. Lifting Blair's legs up a little, he sat on the end and let them rest in his lap before he answered. "I don't know. But I called Mags and Dean Edwards to let them know that all personal journals have been destroyed." 

"And, you did that because?" 

"Because even though Mags is a great lady, she's a terrible gossip. She's better than an announcement on the 6 o'clock news." 

"And Dean Edwards?" 

"He was in the journal written three years ago. I figure he'd want to know and would be good about spreading the news in places Mags might miss." 

"Sneaky." His right foot rubbed gently against Jim's thigh. "You think that will be enough? I mean, are they going to believe it?" 

"I don't know, but I'm hoping. I called Silver. He's supposed to be making up some kind of statement for the press. He wants you to read it before he releases it." 

"What kind of statement?" 

"Something about the inheritance and the collection." 

Blair rolled on his back as he draped his bandaged right wrist across his chest and covered his eyes with the other. "Did you see that flower arrangement from the university?" 

"The one that took up the whole left side of the room?" 

"You noticed?" 

"A little. Think they're trying to get your attention?" 

"More like they want me to hurry up and release the rest of the collection." 

Jim massaged the upper part of Blair's legs, the easy touches relaxing his partner's breathing, the muscles no longer quite as tense. "Let me ask you something, Chief." 

"What?" 

"What's the big deal about this collection? I mean, I know Stoddard won all kinds of awards and shit, but what made him so special?" 

"You don't ask hard questions, man." 

"I just don't get it." 

"That feels good, Jim. Don't stop." Blair took several long breaths as Jim continued to knead his calves and then worked on his ankles and feet. "Eli made some of the biggest discoveries and theories of this century in his field. In academic circles, his writing is the word on primitive cultures and the impact of the modern world on those indigenous systems. His original works are worth a lot of money because of that. The collection right now is one of the most famous, not just in America, but the world. That gives the university something no one else has and that's their edge." 

"So, now instead of being a teaching fellow they can push around, you hold the strings on something they want to keep." 

"Right. I mean, Eli left them the whole thing, anyway. It's not like I want to keep it. I don't know why they seem so worried." 

"I thought that was strange, too. There have been over a dozen calls from some guy named Crenshaw." 

"Dewey Crenshaw. He's in charge of the current archives. He's probably having a multiple orgasm right now just thinking about adding more. Poor son of a bitch lives for that shit." 

Instead of smiling, Jim studied Blair's frown and angry tone. "What?" 

"He was another of Eli's boys." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah." Blair pulled his legs out of Jim's lap and sat up, running his hand back through his hair. "I didn't know that until I read the fucking journal. Why the hell did he want me to know that? He had to know how it would make me feel. I fucking hate this." 

"Settle down, Chief." 

Standing up, Blair paced in front of the window, the intensity building. "I read all this personal stuff, things about me and a lot of my friends. Eli was such a bastard. I mean, he had so much talent, but it was so twisted, so mean. He hurt so many people for no reason." 

"He hurt you." 

The younger man stopped moving, crossed his arms around his waist, and slumped back against the wall. "Yeah. And, he didn't have to, man. I loved him and he fucked me over. Fucked everyone over. Why did he do that? What was the point?" 

"Power." 

"Power?" 

"He got off on having the power to control people." 

"Yeah?" Blair met his eyes and swallowed hard. "Maybe." 

"No maybe, Chief. He wrote about it, how it made him excited. He had some seriously wicked demons." 

"And didn't mind sharing." 

"He was an honest to god bastard, no argument." Jim patted the space beside him on the sofa, noting the growing fatigue in his lover's tense face. "Come sit down. Please. He's not worth getting worked up over." 

"No, he's not. Not anymore." 

Blair slumped down, his body tucked in next to Jim, and pulled the cover over them both. He rested his head against him and spoke softly. "Just hold me." 

"Your wish, Chief." 

"My wish? My wish is that I could erase some of this shit from my head." 

Jim pulled him in closer, resting his chin on his head. "Doesn't work, babe. Believe me, I've tried it. They come back to bite you in the ass when you least expect it." 

"So, is this your way of saying just stop complaining and deal with it?" 

"It's my way of saying, I'm here." 

The quiet shaking in his arms didn't surprise him as he drew the man he loved into his arms and into his heart all that much more. 

* * *

[Continued in part two](mentor3_a.html).

Link to text version: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=drama6/mentor3_a.html 

This story has been split into four parts for easier loading.

## Mentor 3

by Grey

* * *

Mentor 3 - part two   
by Grey 

"Thanks, Aimes. I owe you." Jim hung up the phone, the new information burned into his memory. 

"Who's Aimes, Jim?" 

Startled, he turned around to find Blair coming from the bathroom. "What?" 

"I said who's Aimes?" 

"Just an old friend." 

Blair's eyes narrowed and tried to meet his, but Jim avoided looking directly at those truth seekers. "Jim, don't try to hide anything else, man. What's going on?" 

"Nothing, Chief. I'm just tracking down some leads on the break in." He stepped to the rack and got his coat, talking on the run. "I need to go and check a few things. Promise me you'll screen the calls and don't let anyone in here. There's a car stationed downstairs and you've got all the numbers." 

"Don't take another step, Ellison." 

The older man's hand froze on the knob. "What?" 

"You heard me. Look at me and tell me that story again and let's see if I believe it." 

Jim sighed, leaning his forehead on the closed door. Reluctantly, he took his coat back off and turned around, his jaw clenching, his gut knotted. "Okay, so I'll stay home." 

"Who's Aimes and this time I want a straight answer." 

Bracing himself against the counter, still avoiding his lover's knowing glances, Jim shrugged. "He's one of my connections at the CIA. I had him do a run down on Quint." 

"Quint?" 

"Thomas Quint." 

"Shit, Jim. What the fuck are you thinking?" Blair shook his head and pushed his hair back nervously, his voice stressed. "Man, I so don't believe this." 

"Believe what? That I want to meet the sorry son of a bitch who raped my partner?" 

"Jim. Please. Don't." 

Turning away, his voice choked, Blair hurried to the stairs, but the older man blocked his path. "Don't what, Blair? Talk about it? Get pissed? Don't what?" 

"I can't do this." 

The near whisper and stab of the words punctured his anger and Jim recognized the pain holding his lover hostage. As Blair tried to move around him, Jim took both his arms and drew him to his chest. He stroked his hair and held him while he apologized. "I'm sorry. I swear to God, I'm not pissed at you." 

"I know." The shaky words muffled and vibrated into his body. "But you scare me when you get like this." 

"Like what?" 

Blair pulled back and met his eyes, his good left hand touching his face lightly. "You get this look, this intensity that means someone's about to die or get hurt." 

"But it's never aimed at you." 

"Doesn't matter. It's somebody." 

The compassion and humanity behind the haunted expression stunned him, stole his breathing for just a fragment of time before air dared enter again. He sagged down on the bottom step and brought Blair with him. "I don't know what to do here. I hate this guy. I need to talk to him. Find some way to make this right." 

"How does that work? How do you make what happened to me right again? You're a sentinel, Jim, not God. You can't go around making decisions like that." 

Jim took Blair's hand and cupped it in his, tracing the life line with his fingers as he spoke quietly. "I don't understand how you can be so calm about it. You know he's out there and you never even bothered to find out his fucking last name." 

"What difference would it have made?" 

"You could've filed charges." 

"Not without hurting Eli and I just couldn't do that." 

"But what about now? Don't you want to at least tell him how it made you feel? Tell him what's it done to you? To us?" 

"Us? What's it done to us?" 

"It's put this thing between us, this wall." He lifted his head, his lover's sad eyes misted over. "Every time I touch you, you pull away now." 

"I don't mean to." 

"I know, but you do. I love touching you, Chief. I need you." 

A weak smile curled his lips as Blair leaned his forehead into Jim's, his voice more certain. "Extra touchie-feelie. That's the sentinel I know and love." The lightness faded as he turned and then rested his head on the larger man's shoulder, his left palm over his heart. "I need you, too, Jim. I do. And, that pulling away thing, that's got nothing to do with you." 

"I know. And that's why I'm so pissed." 

"But you have to let it go, man." 

"How?" 

"I wish I knew." 

Jim pulled back and lifted Blair's head up. "So, how did you let it go?" 

Snorting softly, Blair stood up and took a deep breath. "Who says I have?" 

"What?" 

"I mean, I'm as pissed as you are, Jim, but I'm not going around shouting about it. How can I?" 

Puzzled, Jim watched his lover walk away and stand by the window, his arms crossed and his shoulders pulled in on himself. He stared out over the night, his body tense again. 

"I don't understand." 

"Don't you get it? I can't let myself get angry." 

"Sure you can." 

"No. I can't." He closed his eyes, the fatigue increasing the shadows shading his features. His head came forward, his long curls falling down and covering most of his face. 

"You're losing me here." 

"We can't both be angry." 

"Why not?" 

"Because we just can't." 

Jim rose and walked closer, awareness slowly filtering in. "Oh, I get it. You think that you've got to stay calm to protect me from myself, right?" 

"Something like that." 

"Bullshit." As Blair stood straighter to turn away, Jim caught him and held him still. He kept his voice calm and even, his words focused. "That's an excuse. You're afraid of your own anger because it scares the hell out of you to know you want to hurt someone as much as he hurt you." 

Blair didn't answer right away and refused to look up. After a few moments, he settled back against the wall, no longer resisting, but hiding a shudder just before the word. "Maybe." 

Petting back his hair gently, Jim's voice carried his words in a hush. "It's okay to be mad, babe." 

"I don't want to be mad. It's an ugly feeling." 

"Because an ugly thing happened." 

"Yeah." Blair's eyes closed again, a single tear brimming over before he finally spoke again. "Couldn't we just pretend for awhile? I mean, couldn't we just go upstairs and sleep together and make believe that none of this ever happened?" 

"We could do that for a little while. Sure." 

"That's all I'm asking for, Jim. Just until I can get myself a little more together here." 

As he guided his lover up the stairs, he swallowed back his own fears that it might take a lot longer than a little while for both of them. 

* * *

Waking came slowly, his body protesting from lack of sleep with aches and catches at the edges of his bones. Jim opened his eyes and found Blair lying next to him, curled in, his body warm and twitching, the low moans putting Jim on alert. He put his arm around the younger man's shoulders and held him closer. "Wake up." 

"I can't. Fuck. Leave me alone." Blair pushed away struggling, his sweaty body flushed and ready to fight, but his eyes still closed, his mind still locked in a battle with his own nightmare. 

Before he could get out of bed, Jim sat up and gripped his arm and called again, this time with more force. "I said wake up, Chief. You're safe." Blair stiffened and then slumped, his panicked breathing still racing, his body shaking. Jim eased his hold and spoke softly. "It's okay, Chief. I'm here. Open your eyes." 

Instead, Blair put a hand to his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick." He got up quickly, staggering to the stairs, but not quite making it before leaning over and retching. He fell to his knees as he continued heaving, the vomit covering the floor and the steps sending out waves of stench. 

Jim dialed down his sense of smell and grabbed some wet wipes by the bed. Kneeling beside his partner, he supported his shoulders until the spasms eased. When Jim tried to clean his face, Blair stopped him. "I'll do it." 

"Okay." 

"God, what a mess." 

"Don't worry about it." He helped Blair stand, his gait unsteady as he guided him back to bed. "I'll go get something to clean this up." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Not your fault. Now, lie back and try to relax. You need some water?" 

"Yeah, thanks." 

By the time he'd cleaned the area and returned with some water, Blair sat propped up and waiting. Pale, but more calm, he shook his head as he took the drink. "I didn't mean to do that." 

"I know. You want to talk about it?" 

"Not particularly." Blair sipped the water at first and then drank down the rest. "Same old thing." He put the glass on the bedside table and then pulled the blankets up. "Why don't you burn some candles? That could help the smell. Or, there are some cedar chips in the bathroom closet." 

"I'm dialed down." 

"I'm not." 

"Oh. Right." 

Jim lit three of the candles around the room and then climbed back in bed beside his lover. As soon as their arms touched, the younger man flinched away and pulled his knees up. "What time is Silver coming over today?" 

"I don't know. Ten o'clock I think." 

"Good. I need to figure out how to get rid of this inheritance thing as fast as I can." 

"I think you're going to have to be a little more patient. The courts are slow about stuff like that." 

"I know, but I don't want to deal with it anymore than I have to. I was thinking maybe I could just sign it over to Silver or something." 

"Well, you could ask." Jim sat quietly for a moment before he asked, "You feeling better now?" 

"Yeah. It was just a bad dream." 

"You've never thrown up before because of a dream." 

Blair didn't answer, but took a deep breath as he held out his right arm and flexed his fingers. He moved his wrist just a little and smiled. "Look, man. And it doesn't hurt." 

"That's great, Chief." 

"Yeah, it is. Using only one hand sucks." 

"A lot of things suck." 

"What?" Blair turned and looked at him, his face worried. 

"I think it's time you went back to see Doyle." 

"Oh, man, don't start that shit again. It was just a bad dream. So what?" 

"It's not just the dream, Chief." 

Suddenly defensive, Blair pointed a finger at his own chest. "Hey, I'm not the one who was going to sneak out last night and probably beat the shit out of somebody." 

"I'm not the one who can't stomach his own life." 

"Fuck this." Blair threw back the covers and swung his legs off the side of the bed. "I'm going to fix some coffee and get a shower." 

"I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean that. Don't go yet. It's only six in the morning." 

"I'm sorry, too, but I've got a ton of things to do today. I'm so far behind, I'm never going to catch up." 

"You'll catch up. You've got people to help out." 

"I hate taking advantage like that." 

"It's not taking advantage to let people help. They're your friends. They don't mind." 

"I mind." He stood up and pulled on his robe, his hair still loose and wild around his face. "You can go back to sleep, if you want." 

"I don't want to sleep. I just want to hold you awhile longer." 

"Maybe later. I'm too wired right now. I need to move around, get some things done." 

"Fine." Jim got out of bed, frustration tensing his muscles and voice. He hated Blair being so fucking stubborn. "You're not the only person who can make a damn pot of coffee." 

* * *

Both men remained quiet the next few hours, each one working silently, each one painfully intent on the movements of the other. When the knock at the door came, Jim answered. "Yes?" 

"I'm Dean Wallace from Rainier. Is Mr. Sandburg in?" 

From behind him, Blair called out. "Dean Wallace, what are you doing here?" 

"May I come in a moment?" 

Jim let the older man inside and didn't say anything when he handed him his coat. In his sixties, dressed in a grey suit, the man looked more like a broker than an academic. After hanging up the outer wear, Jim stood in the kitchen, out of the center of things, but still listening. 

"You wouldn't answer my phone calls, so I needed to come talk to you directly." 

"I'm sorry, Dean. A lot of things have happened." 

"So, I hear. Dr. Stoddard's death is a loss for all of us, but to you most of all, considering your background with the man." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Well, he was your mentor and he's left you his estate. That certainly speaks to his high regard for you." 

Sitting down at the table, Blair avoided meeting Jim's eyes and motioned for Wallace to sit. "What can I do for you, sir?" 

"Well, obviously we at the school want to be sure to give our condolences, but also to insure that the issue of the acquisition of the complete Stoddard Collection be addressed as quickly as possible." 

"It will be. I'm talking to Stoddard's lawyer a little later. As soon as legally possible, the papers and anything designated in the estate will be signed over to the school." 

"Excellent." 

"Anything else?" 

Wallace suddenly looked uneasy, but nodded. "We want to hold a memorial service for Dr. Stoddard. You know they cremated the body, but we still feel the need to do something in his honor." 

"Memorial service?" Blair leaned back in the chair, his hand over his mouth, his gut not quite settled. 

"We were thinking it could be this Friday afternoon. That would give everyone enough time to get here." 

"That sounds about right, I suppose." 

"And, we'd like you to give the eulogy." 

Jim came out of the kitchen as Blair paled, his heart beat suddenly too fast. "Chief?" 

"I'm okay, Jim." Blair swallowed hard, his left hand on the table while he spoke, his voice trembling. "I can't do that, sir." 

"But..." 

"No, buts. You'll have to get someone else. Eli Stoddard is dead to me and not because he died in some plane crash." 

"I don't understand." 

"You don't need to." 

Flustered, Wallace argued, "But surely you can at least come to the service. You are his heir." 

"And it would look bad for the school if I didn't show up, right?" 

"Well, there are certain traditions." 

"None of which include me having to pretend to be sorry he's dead." 

Wallace's face hardened as he stood up. "I wasn't aware you felt so strongly. I just assumed you'd be honored to at least take advantage of the occasion to thank the man who helped your career so much." 

"You assumed incorrectly. Now, is there anything else?" 

"No." Wallace turned as Jim handed him his coat. "At least consider coming to the ceremony. You don't have to speak." 

"Why should I?" 

Wallace looked first at Jim and then back at Blair, his deep voice suddenly softer and more kind. "Not everyone understands the healing nature of certain rituals, but I've found over time that they can be very helpful in allowing us to move on with our lives. Whatever Dr. Stoddard did to cause you such pain, he's dead now. It's time to let that go. Maybe coming to the service can help you do that." 

Blair stayed seated, but nodded. "I'll think about it." 

"Good day, then." 

As soon as he left, Jim locked the door and waited, his own unsettled emotions gunning for his belly. Blair finally broke the silence, his voice low and unsteady. "I don't want to go anywhere near that service." 

"Then don't." 

"I'm not." 

"You want some more coffee?" 

"No." Blair stood up and walked over to the window. "I never even thought about it." 

"About what? Having a service?" 

"No, though I have to admit I didn't really consider that, either. No, I was talking about what he said about how much Eli helped my career." 

Jim sat on the sofa, one arm over the back, the other to his chin. "So, what are you saying? That you think you owe this guy for your career now?" 

"No, but I never wanted to admit how much having his name on my recommendations for grants and scholarships helped me get more than I might have otherwise. I mean, I never asked him for anything, but they always seemed to end up on the papers anyway." 

"Another way to keep you close." 

"I guess." Blair moved over to the sofa and sat beside Jim, his body testing the closeness before he finally relaxed enough to stay still. "I'm sorry about being so pissy this morning. I know I should go see Doyle again." 

Wrapping his arm around his shoulder, Jim drank in the heat, the connection that he'd missed. "He's not such a bad guy once you get to talking and forget he's a shrink." 

"I know. It's got nothing to do with Doyle. I like the guy." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I guess I hate admitting how fucked up I feel." 

"Join the crowd on that one, Chief." He squeezed his partner and then leaned his head against his. "God, I love you." 

"Even when I'm such a mess?" 

"In sickness or health, babe." 

Blair sat up straighter, his face suddenly brighter. "You know what?" 

"What?" 

"We've still got to get something for Megan and Simon for the wedding. Plus, we've got to get to work on the bachelor party and figure out what to do about Daryl." 

As Blair rose, Jim pulled him back and laughed. "Whoa, Chief. We don't have to do all that just this second." 

"No, but..." 

"So, let's just sit here for a minute and think about one other thing." 

"What's that?" 

"Our own ceremony." 

Relaxing against him, Blair ran his hand up and down Jim's chest, the movements slow and easy. "Ceremony or not, you're mine. Don't ever forget that." 

"I won't. But I am serious. When things settle down, I do want to do it right this time in front of witnesses. I was thinking we might even go on a little honeymoon or something." 

Smiling, Blair shook his head. "It's always something with you, Ellison." 

"You complaining?" 

"Not likely." He kissed his cheek gently and then cuddled in closer, his eyes squeezed shut, his face less troubled. 

"I want it to be special, Chief." 

"It already is, man." 

* * *

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What would you really have done if you'd found Thomas?" 

Jim stopped working and put his folder down, his attention glued to his partner. He studied how the tight lines around the younger man's face opposed the deceptively soft tone of his question. "I don't know. I know what I'd like to do." 

"Yeah, well, we both know that." Blair sat down across from him, and leaned forward. "See, that's the thing. I know what I'd like to do, too, but in reality, there's nothing to do." 

"Where are we going with this?" 

"Nowhere, really. I was just wondering if I ever decided to do something drastic, something violent or painful, would it make me feel better?" 

"And what did you decide?" 

"I don't think it would." Blair met his eyes and tilted his head, his face still not quite relaxed. "Have you ever felt better after you've done that?" 

"Done what?" 

"Don't play games, Jim. You know what I'm saying here." 

Standing up, he took a deep breath and walked away a few steps before turning back to lean against the support beam. "I know what you're saying, and yeah, I've felt better after beating the shit out of someone who deserved it." 

"Really?" 

"Some people only understand brute force." 

"But do you have to be the brute force yourself? What about justice?" 

"What about how the system fails to protect the innocent?" Jim shook his head before he sat back down, the confusion and disappointment in his lover's eyes hurtful. "Look, I know it's not noble. A better man would let it go, but sometimes, I just see all these awful things and I get so pissed, so outraged, I want to beat some sense into the world." 

"You are a _good_ man. But this violence you carry around, it scares me." 

"I know. I'm working on it." He reached over and took Blair's hand and squeezed it gently. "I mean, I let you boss me around last night, remember? You said stay put and I did." 

"And I appreciate that, Jim. I really do." Blair got up and walked around the table to stand behind him, his arms around Jim's neck, leaning in. "But I need you to promise me not to try to find him or do anything like that again, okay? He's not worth it." He buried his face in the crook of his neck as he whispered. "Promise me." 

"That's a tough one." 

"I know." 

Jim rubbed the arms around his neck, drinking in the rich coffee scent of his lover, his warm breaths tickling his neck. "I promise, but..." 

"But what?" 

"But if he ever comes near you again or does anything else, the deal's off." 

The tiniest of snorts vibrated his skin. "You don't have to worry. He comes near me again, you'll be visiting my ass in jail." 

Despite the teasing tone, the underlying darkness of the words chilled him. Jim pulled his partner around to sit in his lap and pushed his hair back, his fingers brushed with the slightest burn of whisker. He kissed eager lips, a waiting tongue testing his own. Pulling back, he spoke in a hush. "You're safe, Blair. He can't hurt you anymore." 

Smile gone, Blair nodded, his eyes squeezing shut before he rested his forehead on Jim's shoulder. "I want to believe that." 

"Then believe it. You're not alone and fifteen anymore." 

Blair sat back up and caressed his face, his eyes misted over, his voice choked. "Then why does it feel like it sometimes?" 

Pulling him into a hug, Jim remained silent, the answer nowhere in sight. 

* * *

"But why can't I just sign some paper and you take care of all this?" Blair sat forward against the table, his arms crossed and his body resting his upper weight on his elbows. 

"I've already put a lot of the plans you mentioned into motion, but it takes time." Silver pulled out another stack of papers and pushed it over to Blair. "These are the lists of documents to be included in the collection." 

"Once I sign this, what happens?" 

"The university takes possession and control." 

"And can that be immediate?" 

"No. The materials still have to go through probate, but the school can archive and display them. They won't officially own the remaining collection until the court says so." 

"How long should that take?" 

"It could be anywhere from six months to a year." 

"What about liquidating the estate and setting up the funds for the charities?" 

"That will take a little longer, but it's being done. I have to be sure that it's set up so that the inheritance tax is deferred since the money won't be coming to you directly. Otherwise, you could be spending a lot of your own money to do this." 

"I don't have much money to spend." 

"I know." 

Blair sat back, disappointed. "In the meantime, all Stoddard's money is just sitting there doing no one any good at all." 

"Actually, the interest goes into a trust fund that is being used to finance several scholarships." 

"Scholarships?" 

"Yes. Dr. Stoddard set up and ran several summer high school extension and grant programs. I was wondering if you're planning to continue those or if you want all the money to go to the two receivers you mentioned?" 

Blair rubbed his temples, the pounding in his head growing stronger. "I don't know. Is there a way to keep them?" 

"Are you all right, Mr. Sandburg?" 

"What?" He looked up to find a worried face staring into his. "I'm fine. It's just a headache. I haven't been sleeping very well." 

"I can see you're tired. Why don't I work up the details and get back to you next week? This is lot to take in all in one meeting." 

"Okay." Blair blinked several times to focus, his vision blurry. "What about the press deal?" 

"I've taken care of that." 

"How? I didn't see any release." 

"I didn't make one." Silver stood up and put the papers into his brief case as he spoke. "I took it upon myself to contact several of the reporters on your behalf and advise them of what it might mean if you decided to bring a lawsuit for some of the negative, unsubstantiated comments." 

"And that stopped them?" 

He snapped his case shut and picked up his coat, his demeanor pure authority, his voice strong and impressive. "You don't seem to understand that you're the heir to several million dollars. Even if you decide to give away every cent eventually, right now you're potentially a very wealthy person in this city. Add to that, your situation in the Reardon case has put you in the sympathetic hero category. You helped bring down a serial killer at the risk of your own life. I merely pointed out, making you a target for nasty rumors is only setting themselves up for some serious legal entanglements better left alone." 

"Damn." 

"What?" 

"I wouldn't want to go up against you in court." 

"No, you wouldn't." 

Blair leaned forward again, suddenly more eager. "Okay, how good are you at criminal law then?" 

"Depends on the situation. I'm not a prosecutor and I don't defend." 

"How about advising?" 

Silver sat back down very formally, his hand on his brief case. "I'm listening." 

"Okay. You know the background on the Reardon case, right?" 

"I've followed it." 

"Reardon's lawyer wants me to make a statement about what Donovan told me while he held me prisoner. I don't want to do that." 

"I don't think you'll have a choice. Unless there's something self-incriminating, he can have a court order to force you to testify if he wants." 

"Even if what I have to say hurts his client?" 

"The only way to know is to go ahead and make the statement. If it does go against the best interest of Reardon, he probably won't use you. Then again, he might have a different reason for wanting you to be involved." 

"What's that?" 

"If he can show how Donovan fixated enough on you to bring on your attack, he might make the case that Donovan, not Reardon, actually did the killing." 

"But that's not what happened." 

"Doesn't matter. Right now the prosecution is going for first degree murder with special circumstances because of the rape and kidnapping. If he can cast enough doubt about the killing, Reardon might be found not guilty." 

"You're kidding?" 

"No. He'd probably still be convicted on the other charges, but he wouldn't get the death penalty and he'd get a shorter sentence." 

"So, what you're saying is, I'm pretty well fucked." 

"Pretty much, yes." He stood again and paused briefly. "My advice? Get a good lawyer. Today, if not sooner." 

* * *

"I was afraid you weren't going to make it in this morning, Jim." 

"I'm sorry, doc. I left late. Blair had a meeting with Stoddard's lawyer and I wanted to stop by the station." 

"And?" 

Jim settled in the chair and shrugged. "And I didn't really want to come at all, but I need this session to be off desk duty, but you already know that." 

"You think you're ready for full duty?" 

"I was ready right after the shooting." 

"You think?" 

"Yeah, I do." Leaning back, his arms crossed, Jim met his eyes with a stubborn resistance. "I've killed people before and I have to admit, sometimes it gets to me, but not this time. I'd do it again in a heartbeat because I had to. There's no reason to feel guilty about it or get torn up. I'm ready. Just sign the paper and I'm off the leash." 

Doyle put his pen down and took off his reading glasses. "So, everything's okay with you now? No problems? Your partner's out of the hospital for the second time in a week and everything in your life's just fine, is that what you're telling me?" 

"I didn't say that." Jim stood up and paced twice before he stopped by the window, his arms crossed. "I said I was ready to get back to work." 

"What concerns me is what you're not saying. The last few times we've talked, you mentioned being angry." 

"Yeah, well, that hasn't changed." 

"Have you started a journal like I suggested?" 

"No. That doesn't work for me." 

"Have you tried it?" 

"I just said no." The snapping of his own voice pulled him up straighter, and he immediately worked to calm himself. "I'm not much of a writer, and I've been busy. Like you said, Blair's been sick." 

"How is Blair?" 

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, reliving the last few days, the fear for his lover swarming through him. His defenses lowered, he spoke quietly. "Physically he's better." 

"And otherwise?" 

"He scares me." 

"How?" 

"I don't mean I'm afraid of him, but that I'm afraid for him. He's not resting and when he does fall asleep, he shakes and has these nightmares. This morning's was pretty awful and he threw up, but he won't talk about it." Moving to the other side of the room, Jim sat on the sofa, his body weary. "You know what's going on with the Stoddard thing and now with Reardon. It's not fair he has to go through all this." 

Doyle stood up and came around the desk and sat in the chair closest to the sofa. He leaned forward as he spoke. "How do you feel about that?" 

"Pissed." Clenching his jaw several times, he avoided eye contact. "I just keep thinking I should do something, but there's nothing to do. Stoddard's dead and Blair made me promise not to go after the other man involved. The Reardon case just keeps getting more and more complicated. And, Blair, he's just trying to pretend like it's all fine, that we should just imagine life's going to be back to normal any minute, like that could fucking happen now that I know what I know." 

"What is it you know?" 

"About the rape. About how Stoddard and that fucker Thomas got away with it. I just have a really hard time accepting that." 

"Why?" 

"What do you mean why?" As he spoke, each phrase got more and more powerful, the rage forcing the words like hammer blows into a wall of rushing air. "They fucking raped my partner and it's like he doesn't want to talk about it. He won't even get mad about it. He's afraid to get mad, like it's some kind of fucking sin to want the fuckers dead. And, see, I just don't get that." 

"Has he said why?" 

"He says we can't be mad at the same time. That as long as I'm so pissed, he's got to hold it together, which is bullshit. I don't seem to be able to say anything right anymore. We either fight or don't talk at all. I'm not sure which is worse." 

"What do you two fight about?" 

"You." 

"Me?" 

"I want him to come back. He keeps putting it off, finding excuses." 

"Okay, what else?" 

Jim's throat dried as he clenched his jaw, his body tense. "He flinches when I touch him. And..." 

"And what?" 

"We're not having sex like we used to." 

Doyle sat back, his words careful. "He's been recently traumatized and ill. That's understandable." 

"I know that." Jim refused to look up while he spoke, embarrassed to admit his own needs. "It's just that before all this happened, we had sex all the time. I mean, really good sex. Every morning, every night, sometimes during the day, too. We did it plenty of times and in some places you'd never imagine. I love sex and except in the mornings, Blair always initiated it. Now, it's like don't touch. He does let me hold him sometimes, and I love that, but it's still not the same." 

"You feel rejected?" 

"And frustrated. I want Blair back. All of him. He's a very sexual person, but now it's like that part of him is shut down and in hiding. Every now and then it peeks out, but I never know when that's going to happen or when it's going to end." He rubbed his face with both hands and blinked several times to clear his vision. "God, I sound like such a selfish prick. I know he's more than that. But I miss that part of him so much." 

"Then you should tell him." 

"But I don't want to hurt him." 

"He needs to know how you feel, Jim. Right now might not be the best time to talk about it, but soon, you have to tell him." 

"What do I do in the meantime? And, I'm not talking about just the sex, either." 

"A couple of things." Doyle went to his shelf and took down a paperback and handed it to him. "You said you weren't much of a writer, so I'm going to give you some reading instead." 

Jim read the cover out loud. "THE SEXUAL HEALING JOURNEY: A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse by Wendy Maltz. Fuck, this sounds like fun." He put the book down on the sofa and massaged his temples. "I don't know if I can get through this. I mean, shouldn't this be more for Blair?" 

"You're the partner of a survivor, Jim. This healing has to include you, too. This book gives a lot of good insight about what you're dealing with, what you can expect, and how to deal with it." 

"All right. I'll try it. So, what's the second thing?" 

"Get Blair's ass in here." 

* * *

"Captain Banks, I've been patient, but I want to see Mr. Sandburg today. If I don't, I'll get a court order." 

Simon frowned and pushed back from his desk just as Jim entered the office. "Detective Ellison. Michael Reardon's lawyer, Carl Frank. I think you've met." 

"What's this about a court order?" Jim ignored the extended hand and stared down. "My partner just got out of the hospital." 

"Which means he's well enough to make a statement, a statement that should've been made days ago." 

Jim closed the door behind him, taking his time, clearing his mind of the war of words flooding in on him. He turned to study the face who would defend a man like Reardon. He couldn't help but think he looked a lot like a pale version of a human weasel, all his features sharp and pointed. "You want to see my partner, you need to go through Marshall Caldwell's office." 

"Marshall Caldwell is your lawyer?" 

"Yes. He advises me that my partner doesn't have to make a statement unless you get the order. Even if you do, no statement will be made without Mr. Caldwell being present." Jim stepped closer, his voice lower and more threatening. "You want to play games, Frank? You want to blame a child for the shit your client pulled and use my partner to back up that story? That's not going to happen." 

Frank backed up and adjusted his tie nervously. "The fact remains that Mr. Sandburg was the last man to see Paul Donovan alive. The more he tries to resist, the more I'm curious as to what the boy actually confessed. We both know how unstable he was. Your partner used that to get him to turn over on Reardon, used the boy's obvious affection and growing obsession to lie about my client's role in all this." 

"My partner almost died." 

"A miscalculation on his part." 

Before Simon could stop him, Jim grabbed and shoved Frank up against the wall, his face too close to his, the words coming out in a hiss. "The miscalculation was underestimating my determination to see your client dead soon." 

"Ellison. Enough." The barked command and strong arm pulled him away so that Frank could move to the door quickly. Simon held one hand in the center of Jim's chest while he spoke. "Mr. Frank, if you want to see Mr. Sandburg, you'll have to call his lawyer." 

"I could file charges." 

Simon took a deep breath and shook his head. "For what? A wrinkled lapel? I've got work to do. Go file a motion or something. We're finished here." 

"I'll be back, gentlemen." 

As soon as the door closed, Simon turned, his frown in place, his words a growl. "What the hell are you thinking?" 

"I'm sorry." 

"Like hell you are. You and I both know he was taunting you and you went for it. That's got to stop. I thought you were cleared for duty." 

"I am." 

"Then, what's this all about?" 

"Frank's an asshole." 

"That's a given, but that's not the point. I need to know you're not going to toss our suspects over the railing or out the damn window anytime you get pissed off. I just can't have that." 

Deflated, his anger downgraded to worn out and tired, he sat down at the table, his hand to his chin. "I'm sorry, Simon. I mean it. I was out of line. It's just this whole thing with Reardon makes me sick. It's not bad enough the monster killed those children and is fucking with the system, but now he's fucking with Sandburg. It's almost too much to handle." 

Simon moved beside him, his face unyielding. "I need to know if you can handle the job, Jim. If you're too stressed out, then I can keep you on the desk or give you leave. You've got plenty of time coming." 

"I can do the job." 

"Are you sure? I know Doyle signed the release, but seeing you just now, man, that's not an officer who's got it all together yet." 

Jim's eyes narrowed, his word tense. "It won't happen again, Captain. I can _do_ the job." 

Nodding, Simon picked up a mug. "One more time, Jim, just one, and you're on leave whether you want it or not. Is that clear?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then get out there and see what you can do about booking Reardon into his own private cell on death row." 

"Very good, sir." 

* * *

Blair leaned against the wall, staring outside to the winter, his body heavy and achy, but his mind too light and racing. Every time he tried to sit down, his mind flashed back to danger, some evil point in his past with Eli or Lash or some other asshole trying to hurt him. He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes as he fought once again to stop shaking. Turning, he headed for the sofa only to jump when the knock at the door startled him. 

He stepped closer before he called out. "Who is it?" 

"Dewey Crenshaw. We need to talk." 

Shit. Blair rested his forehead on the door for just a few moments to calm his breathing, to put on his protective mask before facing the world again. Reluctantly, he opened the door and tried to remain neutral. "What do you want?" 

"You wouldn't answer my phone calls." 

"I've been sick." 

"So, I've heard. I have to admit, you do look pretty shitty." 

"Thanks, man. Now, what do you want?" 

Standing there, his young face nervous, Crenshaw motioned with his head for permission to come in. "I want to talk to you about the archive." 

"I figured." Blair took in the features, dark curly hair cut short around his square face, a ruby earring in his left ear, his blue eyes anxious. He shook his head as he realized Crenshaw looked a lot like himself minus a few years and some bruises. Fuck Eli Stoddard anyway. "Okay. Let's talk." 

Locking the door, he asked, "You want some coffee?" 

"No. I just want to know your intentions." 

"My intentions?" 

"Yeah, there's been talk about you taking over the archive." 

Blair rubbed his face with his left hand and then sat down on the couch. "That's not going to happen." 

"But everyone's saying you're holding up the collection because you want to take care of Eli's papers yourself." The low voice trembled, not quite anger, not quite all nerves, either. "I can't let you take over." 

"Relax. I don't want anything to do with the archive." 

The younger man stood in front of him, looking down, his voice challenging. "Why not? What? You think you're too fucking good for it now that Eli's left you everything else?" 

"Calm down, Crenshaw." 

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, Sandburg. You're a cocksucking little prick and I don't know why Eli loved you." The tears caught Blair off guard as Crenshaw turned away and stomped over to the window as he wiped his face with his hand. 

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't know you were still with him." 

"I wasn't, but not because I didn't want to be. After he left me, he gave me the archive as a gift. He told me I could take care of it for him, and I've done a good job." 

"You've done an excellent job. Nobody could've done better." 

"What about the personal journals he left? What'd you do with those?" 

"I burned them. They're gone, man." 

"So, why did he leave it all to you? It should've been mine." 

Swallowing back his own emotion, his words choked. "You're right, man. It should've, but you know Eli, always doing something that doesn't make sense." 

"Oh, it makes sense, but I was hoping he'd changed." 

"What?" 

Crenshaw turned around, his eyes bloodshot, but his voice more contained and sober. "You've got no idea how much he loved you. He talked about you all the fucking time, even when we were in bed together." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Crenshaw moved forward and sat down across from him. "He had this thing where he'd get the most recent set of pictures of you and your latest fuck and fan them all out in front of him and just stare for hours. Sometimes, he'd get out the whole fucking collection, especially that one year when you were with that boxer, what's his name, Roy Williams? Anyway, I'd get up in the middle of the night and he'd still be there just looking at you or writing about it. I hated you so much, man. You don't even know how much." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, well, thinking about it, it's not really your fault, is it?" 

"So, why did you stay with him?" 

Crenshaw met his eyes and looked at him like he was crazy. "Why?" 

"Yeah, why would you put up with that shit?" 

"I loved him. He was _the_ Eli Stoddard. I mean, I would've put up with a lot more to be with him." 

Blair swallowed hard before he spoke, the need to hear the truth out loud stronger than the caution screaming in his mind to stay quiet and mind his own business. "And did you?" 

"Did I what?" 

"Put up with a lot more?" 

Suddenly sitting up straighter, Crenshaw eyed him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about Thomas." 

"Fuck." 

"Yeah, fuck." 

"I hate Thomas." 

"Me, too." 

"He likes hurting people." 

"Do you still see him?" 

Crenshaw stood up and paced several times before he finally spoke again. "I never wanted to see him, but after Eli dumped me, he sort of took me in. I didn't have a place to stay because it was too late in the semester and I didn't have any money." 

"So, your stuff got sent to Thomas?" 

"Yeah. I just got this note that I was supposed to move in with him." 

"Without Eli?" 

"It happened without warning. At first I was just sort of in shock, you know? I didn't expect it." 

His mind spun back, his stomach clenched at the similar memory. "So, what'd you do?" 

"What could I do? I did what Eli told me. I stayed with that bastard Thomas. God, what a son of bitch." 

"Why didn't you leave? There had to be somewhere else to go." 

Crenshaw stopped by the bookcase, running his fingers along the binding edges of the volumes and then picking up a primitive doll. His words came out detached and distant. "I hate Thomas. But there was always a chance if I did what he wanted, I could be with Eli again. I couldn't risk losing him forever. I loved him too much." 

"So, you stayed with Thomas. For how long?" 

Putting the doll down, he patted down its skirt and didn't answer. Instead, he came closer to the sofa, his voice more casual. "Do you promise you're not taking over the archive?" 

"I promise." 

"Okay, then. I guess I'll be seeing you at the dedication." 

"Dedication?" 

"You haven't heard?" 

Blair shook his head, his mind still dragging behind the reality of the moment. "I've been out of the loop lately." 

"Then you need to talk to Dean Wallace and get it straightened out. They're planning a big ceremony set for a few weeks after the memorial service. I heard they wanted you to do the honors. That's where I heard about them planning to give you the job as head of the archive." 

Blair got up and shook his head, pushing back his hair, unsettled and dizzy. "I'll do that. Thanks, Crenshaw." 

Holding out his hand, the other man's face and voice softened, "Call me Dewey, Blair. I mean, I think we can safely say we're kind of connected after all we've been through, right?" 

He took the hand and shook it, his heart almost too tight to pump and his lungs working harder than ever. "Take care, Dewey." 

"I will, man." He stepped to the door and paused before he spoke. "You know, you're not as bad as I expected." 

"We're not strangers. We've talked before." 

"I know, but I was too jealous to really see you as a person other than the man Eli wanted instead of me." 

"Forget that, Dewey. Eli's dead and gone, man." 

"Not to me, he's not. I've still got his letters and papers. I feel like I'm still part of him when I'm in the archive. When I read his words, he's right there beside me again." Crenshaw touched the knob and added, "You'll never be free of him, Blair, any more than I will be. You might as well accept that." 

As soon as he left, Blair locked the door. He stood there several long moments, listening as the elevator dinged open and then closed. Stepping down the hall, he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it. The steamy heat spread the soapy lather, but did nothing to dissolve the filth that coated his insides. 

* * *

"Pick up the phone, damn it." 

"Anything wrong, man?" 

Jim frowned and put down the receiver. "Blair's not answering the phone again. I hate when he does that." 

Brown sat down in the chair by the desk, his own face solemn. "Maybe he just needs some time to himself." 

"Maybe." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought off the flood of images of Blair lying helpless, unable to answer. 

"Jim, man, listen. If you're that worried, maybe you should just check out early and go on home." 

"I've got a ton of paperwork to catch up on." 

"Yeah, well, there's nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow." 

"True." He hesitated and looked around before he leaned forward, his voice lowered. "It's just I don't want to seem over protective. He hates that." 

"Yeah, well, he must not hate it too much or he'd have kicked your ass by now, man." 

"What are you saying? You think I'm over protective, too?" 

Brown smiled and shook his head. "It's part of the Ellison package, man. You're like that with everybody, especially Sandburg." 

"I am not." 

"Sure you are. It's nothing bad. It's just hard-wired in your nature." 

"You're making this up, H. Just because I worry doesn't mean I try to take over." 

"I didn't say that, man. I just said you're over protective, like you're the one and only person who can take care of business when there's a problem. Like I said, there's nothing bad about that. We just all pretty much accept it." 

"No offense, H, but that's bullshit. I don't do that. I know everyone here can take care of themselves. And, Blair can, too. That doesn't mean I can't help out when things get rougher than usual." 

Shrugging, Brown stood up and patted him on the back in sympathy, still cordial. "Whatever you say, man." As he walked off, Jim clenched his jaw and picked up the phone and dialed home again. After six rings, he hung up, grabbed the book Doyle gave him, and headed home. Something wasn't right. He could just feel it. 

* * *

"Blair?" He stepped inside to dark, not even the candles or fireplace glowing to lessen the dimness. His lover sat on the sofa, the blanket pulled up around his shoulders, his hair wild and tangled all around his head. The scent of blood alarmed him and he slammed the door shut as he hurried to his partner. "What's going on, Blair?" 

"Nothing, man." Blair looked up, his eyes dazed and unfocused. In the low light, the younger man's whiskered face soaked in the shadow. "Why's it so dark, Jim?" 

"The lights are off." 

"Oh." He stayed still, not reacting at all as Jim checked his right wrist to see the damp and bloodstained bandage. 

"What'd you do, Chief, take another shower and not change the dressing?" 

"I don't know. Did I?" 

"Looks like it. Close your eyes. I'm going to turn on a light." 

Jim braced his own vision and switched on the lamp. He sat down next to Blair and checked him over, noting the cool, clammy skin, the general lack of response, the pupils way too small. "Blair, how are you feeling?" 

"Fine." 

"Fine? No headache or chills?" 

"Yeah, a little. I stopped shaking though." 

"Did you take anything or have anything to drink?" 

"What?" For the first time he looked up at Jim, his face confused. 

"Did you take anything you don't normally take?" 

Blair touched his temple, his eyes squeezed shut. "I couldn't sleep and I had a headache. I was just so tired, Jim. I had to do something. I took some aspirin and some of those other pills Dr. Astor gave me." 

"Some? How many is some?" 

"I don't know. Four I think." 

"Shit, Blair. Don't move." He went to the bathroom and grabbed up the Xanax bottle, noting the dose of one pill four times a day. "Damn it." He came back out to see his friend lying on his side, his breathing more even, his arms wrapped around his chest. "Blair, when did you take these?" 

He didn't answer right away, and Jim stepped closer and repeated the question a little louder. "I don't know, man. After Dewey left." 

"Dewey?" 

"Dewey Crenshaw. Poor bastard." 

"When was that? Morning, this afternoon, when?" 

"I don't know. Around three I think. God, I'm so tired. Leave me alone, man." The words came out slurred and pleading. 

Jim went to the phone and dialed, the whole time keeping track of his partner's slow, but steady heartbeat and respiration. "Dr. Astor, please. This is Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade PD, and it's an emergency about one of his patients." 

As soon as the doctor answered the phone, Jim explained the situation. "I don't think he's in danger, detective. If he took four at once, he'll be overly sedated, but he shouldn't be in any serious difficulty. If it affects his respiration too much or you've got any doubts at all, go ahead and bring him in to the ER. We can monitor his vital signs there. Otherwise, just keep him warm and under observation until some of the affects wear off." 

"Thanks. I'll do that." 

"Detective?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I gave your partner a limited prescription because I was worried about reactions to the trauma he's had, but I told him specifically how it should be taken. If he took four at once, he must have had a reason." 

"He said he was tired." 

"He also said he didn't want to use sedatives at all unless he had to, yet he took the prescription. I think I'd be concerned about that sudden change in attitude." 

"Well, he hasn't been sleeping since he got out of the hospital." 

"When he wakes up, I think you need to talk to your partner, detective." 

"Don't worry, doctor. I plan to." 

* * *

Jim stood by the balcony window, his face trained to the morning while he sipped more coffee. He took a deep breath and turned as he heard a groan behind him. "You awake, Chief?" 

"God." 

"How are you feeling?" 

"God." Blair struggled to sit up, his eyes still closed, his body shivering. "It's freezing." 

"No, it's not." Jim put down his cup and stepped closer to pull the blankets up higher. "There. You want some coffee?" 

"No. What time is it?" 

"Seven." 

"It looks like morning." 

"It is morning." 

"Seven in the morning?" Blair met his eyes, confused. "What happened?" 

"You tell me." 

"I don't know. Shit." Swallowing hard, he shook his head as he pulled the cover even tighter. "I remember taking a shower and feeling like shit." 

"Worse than now?" 

"Not much, but yeah. Jesus. I took some of those pills Astor gave me, but I didn't think they'd knock me out like that." 

"They wouldn't have if you'd just taken one like you were supposed to." Jim tried to push down some of the fuzzy curls standing straight out from Blair's head, but gave up. Dried and slept on before combing out made it pointless. "Are you saying you really thought you were supposed to take four at once?" 

"That's what it said, right?" 

"No." 

"Shit. I didn't have my glasses." 

Relieved just a little, Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me?" 

Blair slumped against him, his body still stiff. "I'm sorry." 

"You could be dead now." 

"Come on, man. It wasn't that bad." 

Suddenly angry, Jim stood up, pacing, his hands accenting his words. "Are you kidding? You could've stopped breathing for christsakes. I've been up all night worried shitless." 

"It's not like I did it on purpose." 

"That's not the fucking point, Sandburg. You were careless because you were either too tired or too upset to pay attention. Now, I need to know what we have to do to make sure that doesn't happen again." 

Blair shrugged, his eyes avoiding Jim's. "I didn't want to take the pills in the first place. It was a mistake. It won't happen again." 

"And?" 

"And what?" 

"And I want you to go see Doyle today." 

"I can't today." 

"Why not?" 

"I need to go to school and see some people." 

Jim paused and then sat down, his hand on the back of the couch, the other on Blair's shoulder. "Listen to me, Blair. You scared me. I was upset before this happened, but this does it. I'm afraid something's going to happen and there's going to be nothing I can do to stop it." 

Puzzled, Blair took his hand and spoke quietly. "I don't understand. What do you think might happen?" 

"Last night when I came in here, you were in the dark and out of it, drugged senseless. You don't take drugs, Chief, but you did last night. Your wrist was still wet and ragged from the shower you took. You'd torn out one of your stitches, but you just left it like that even though you just got out of the hospital for infection. You wouldn't answer the phone all day, and I could tell you hadn't eaten, either. Put it all together. What would you say if I did something like that?" 

The younger man didn't answer right away, but didn't let go of Jim's hand. Finally, his words came out slowly. "I have to admit, I'd be worried." 

"What would you think was going on?" 

"I'd probably think you were having some problems, which I am, I'll admit that." 

"Then why won't you go back to Doyle?" 

"I will, but not today." 

"Today, Chief." 

Blair pulled away and stood up, slightly wobbly, but making it to the kitchen table before he steadied himself. "You're not my boss, Jim. You don't fucking tell me what to do." 

"Blair..." 

"No. I've had enough of people telling me shit. I'm going to get cleaned up and then I've got to go take care of something at school. Doyle will just have to wait until tomorrow." 

"But you'll go tomorrow, right?" 

"Maybe. Don't fucking push." He went into the bathroom and slammed the door, the violent blast like a bomb going off between them. 

* * *

"It's not a break in. The lock's still good and there's no sign of forced  
entry anywhere else." Simon stood at the edge of the body, one hand  
scratching his head, the other stuffed into his pocket.

"Which means he knew the killer." Jim scanned around the body, checking the scene carefully, his nerves jumpy and raw. The blood pooled around the nude edges, the dark flesh peppered with wounds, the face and genitals exploded to nothing but gristle and bits. 

"The fact that he was shot at such close range would indicate that, too." 

"And the fact that he was shot nine times means someone was pretty damn pissed, captain." 

"Sure seems like it." 

Jim stood up, his jaw clenching, his mind running through his options. "Sir, we have to talk." 

"I thought that's what we were doing here." 

Taking his captain's arm, he guided him to the far side of the room and lowered his voice. "I wasn't sure until we got here, but this guy's connected to Stoddard. His name's Thomas Quint." 

"Sandburg's Stoddard?" 

"Yeah." 

"Shit. Tell me this isn't related to that mess." 

"I can't do that." 

Simon's face grew even more solemn. "Then forgive me, but I have to ask. Did you have anything to do with this?" 

"Hell, if I'd done it, you'd never have found the body. No, whoever did this, did it without planning." 

"Shit." Simon covered his mouth and looked around the room before turning back to Jim. "This puts me in a really awkward position, Jim. You shouldn't be heading this team." 

"I know. But even if I don't head the team, I'm involved. So's Sandburg. Whoever investigates this is going to have to trip all over us. Unless I miss my mark, this is going to have something to do with those journals or Stoddard's death. The timing makes it too much of a coincidence otherwise." 

"So, what are you saying? You want to stay on the case?" 

"Yes, sir. I've read the journals. I've got a long list of suspects to work through. Anyone else will have to start from scratch. You're already here to watch my back anyway, so why bring in anyone new?" 

"I'm just here because we're short-handed." 

"Riiight. It's got nothing to do with me just coming back from restricted duty and having a few anger control issues, I'm sure." 

"Which is all the more reason to reassign the case." 

"I'm hoping you won't do that. The fewer people who know about all the dirty little details of the case for now, the better." 

Simon rubbed the back of his head, his face grim. "All right, but...," he held up a finger, "I want to be appraised of every step of this case and notes kept on any and all procedures. No screw ups on this. Understood?" 

"Understood, sir." 

"Good, then let's get out of here and let forensics do their job while we figure out what the hell to do about some of this shit." 

* * *

"Blair, what are you doing here? You look terrible." Mags came into his office, her face concerned as she touched his shoulder. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine. It's just a headache." He took a deep breath and patted her hand affectionately. "I had to come in to do some things. Tina's been taking over the classes, which isn't fair. I wanted to make some extra notes to help out. I just don't think I'm ready to teach again, yet." 

"Of course, you're not. Don't worry about that. Tina's agreed to take an extra stipend to do the classes for as long as you need." 

"What? How do you know that?" 

"She told me yesterday. Dean Wallace took care of it. He said you might need some more time off than we first thought. I was sure she said she called you about it." 

Blair stood up and paced his office, not sure whether to be angry or relieved. "I didn't ask him to do that. I can do my job. I just have to get myself together, that's all." 

"I know, dear. But you don't need to push so hard. Besides, Tina told me she likes teaching your classes better than assisting Dr. Willigar anyway. He's a demanding old fart." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"So, just relax and concentrate on getting well." 

"I am well." 

"Really, dear? Define well for me then, because you certainly don't look well to me. Now, stop pacing and sit down. You're making me nervous." 

"Sorry." Settling back in his desk chair, he rubbed the sides of his temples, the ache moving like slow gritty waves through his skull. "It's just been a really bad morning." 

"And that's because?" She went to the coffee pot and picked up a mug. "You want some?" 

"Yeah, thanks." As she poured, he talked and sorted through the stacks of papers on his desk. "Did you know they were planning to try to get me to replace Crenshaw over at the library?" 

"I'd heard rumors, yes." 

"Why didn't you call?" 

"Actually, I left several messages, but you didn't return them." 

"Oh. Sorry. The answering machine must be broken." He paused and took the mug as she sat down beside him. "Anyway, I went to Dean Wallace this morning and made it clear that little project wasn't going to happen. I'd leave town first." 

"I'm sure dear Dewey's relieved." 

"He came to see me yesterday." 

"Poor boy." 

"Yeah, he's a little torn up." 

"Eli treated him badly. But then you know Eli treated most of his boys badly." 

Freezing in place, Blair met his friend's kind eyes and flushed. He slowly lowered the mug and worked to keep his voice steady. "Not everything they say in the news is true." 

"I don't care what the news says, Blair. I knew Eli Stoddard a long time. I didn't know about you and him until you said something the other day about not really speaking to him since you were fifteen. That fits his pattern. I'm sorry. I know this is pretty painful for you right now." 

"It's okay." 

"No, it's not. Eli Stoddard was a twisted son of a bitch. A lot of the people around here knew what he did, but usually it was with men old enough that we really couldn't say anything. I suspected he sometimes liked younger men, but I didn't know for sure." 

Blair's hand shook as he put the mug on his desk, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. "I don't want to talk about Eli right now, Mags. He's dead. I want it to be over." 

"I know you do." She paused for a moment before she asked, "Are you going to the memorial service tomorrow?" 

"No." 

"I think you should." 

"Why?" 

"You're an anthropologist, Blair. You know about the power of the ritual, especially when it comes to death rituals. Help yourself really take in that he's gone so you can move on." 

"I am moving on." 

She touched his knee again and leaned in. "Don't take this the wrong way, dear, but that's bullshit. You'll be on your way to moving on when you can say his name without trembling." 

Blair stood up, his hand running back through his hair, his body too heavy to carry the lightness in his head. "I have to go, Mags. I'll see you later, okay?" 

"I'm sorry. I need to mind my own damn business." 

"It's not that. I'm just not feeling too great." 

"You need a ride home?" 

"No, that's okay. I'll catch a bus." 

"Blair, please, let me drive you." 

"No, I need the time to just sit and think." 

"On a bus?" 

"Sure. It's cold, it's noisy, it's just the right place for how I'm feeling." 

* * *

"Blair?" 

"Yeah, I was wondering if you had time to see me. I know I don't have an appointment." Blair sat very still, his backpack beside him, his chest tight and resistant to breathing. 

Doyle opened his door wider and motioned for him to enter. "Sure. Come on in." 

"Thanks." He ignored the dizzy spin of the room and steadied himself against the doorjamb as he made his way inside. He slumped on the sofa and closed his eyes, working to keep calm, struggling to contain the panic gibbering in his head for the last few hours. 

"So, what's going on, Blair? You look upset." 

"I'm fine. Listen," swallowing hard, he avoided looking at the knowing eyes that studied him too closely, "I just needed to talk to you about something." 

"What?" 

"They're having a memorial service tomorrow. I don't want to go, but other people think I should. I'm not sure." 

Doyle settled in the chair across from him, his face kind, but passive. "A service for Stoddard, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why don't you want to go?" 

Snorting in frustration, Blair shook his head. "You know what he did." 

"I know what you told me." 

"Well, lately I've been remembering more about that, but in a different way." 

"Care to explain that?" 

Blair stood up, this time more steady, the need to put some order to the inner confusion building. He paced while he spoke, the quick movements back and forth added to the frantic repeated motion of his hand pushing back his stubborn hair. "I had everything neat and tidy in my head, you know. Mostly, I didn't think about it. Now, it's like all I think about." 

"What is it you think about?" 

"The things he did, man, the things I put up with. I don't know why I didn't see it for what it was even after it was over." 

"And what was it?" 

"Abuse. He never loved me, not the way you're supposed to love somebody. Why didn't I see that?" 

"I don't know. Why do you think you didn't?" 

Blair stopped moving for a moment and stood by the window, his left index finger tracing the cool edge of the pane. "Because I didn't want to." 

"And now?" 

"Because I can." 

Doyle turned and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his hands extended. "What's different? What's happened in your life that makes you able to see it now when you couldn't before?" 

"Jim." 

"Jim? Why Jim?" 

Blair crossed his arms around his middle, his body suddenly less anxious. "Jim loves me. Nobody's ever treated me like he has." 

"And how's that?" 

"Like I'm more than just a body, more than just somebody to fuck." 

Doyle sat back, his face concerned and serious. "Is that how you see all of your past relationships before Jim, as purely sexual?" 

"Yeah, I guess. I never really stayed with anyone very long. If it got too serious, I chickened out and left." 

"But you didn't do that with Jim. Why not?" 

"Jim's different. We were best friends for a long time before we slept together. To be honest..." He paused, biting his lower lip, the words caught in his throat. 

"To be honest, what?" 

"I was afraid to sleep with him." 

"Why?" 

"Because I loved him. I never really loved the others, not really." 

"But you loved Eli." 

"Yeah." 

"And he hurt you?" 

"Yeah, you could say that." Blair sighed and then took several deep breaths. "I guess I was afraid that if I slept with Jim, he'd end up being like Eli, which was stupid because they're nothing alike." 

"Not at all?" 

"No, not really. I mean, they're both forceful and controlling. But Jim doesn't try to manipulate me like Eli did. He just tells me what he wants, no stupid mindfucks like Eli. He doesn't lie to me, either. Most importantly, he's gentle." Blair smiled slightly and flushed as he looked away. "You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he's really sweet and romantic." He finally met Doyle's eyes. "Don't you dare tell him I told you that. He hates people to know he's such a softie." 

"I'd never break your confidence, Blair. And, I must admit Jim hides his soft side rather well." 

"Oh, yeah. In public, he's a real hardass, and believe me, he can be like that in private, too, but mostly he's just a big pushover when it comes to trying to make me happy." He paused a moment and then frowned. "At first, it bothered me." 

"What?" 

"Him being so thoughtful. I wasn't used to it." 

"None of your other lovers were like that?" 

Blair snorted again and shook his head. "Not hardly. The women mostly wanted me to show them a good time and just have sex, and I didn't mind that. I just never let them get too close, except for Maya, which is another whole session about disaster, believe me. The men, well, the men..." He turned away and rested his forehead against the wood frame of the window, his words coming out more quietly. "They weren't like Jim." 

"What exactly are you saying, Blair? How were they not like Jim?" 

"They weren't gentle." He didn't say anything else for several minutes, just standing there, his eyes stinging, his head painfully echoing his own words. Finally, he reached for the Kleenex on Doyle's desk and blew his nose before he sat back down. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Not really, but I guess you can sort of see that." 

"What I see is someone who's been through some pretty hard times in a very short period." 

Nodding, Blair rubbed his face and tried to focus. "I don't know why I got so far off track. I didn't come here to talk about all that. I wanted your advice about going to the memorial service." 

"I think that's something you have to decide for yourself. But can you tell me why you're afraid of going?" 

Blair wiped his open palm on his thigh and then crossed his arms. "I'm afraid of what might happen." 

"What do you think might happen?" 

"They're going to be talking about the great Dr. Eli Stoddard, right? The man who wrote the book in modern anthropology, the man to be honored worldwide for his dedication to his studies. People might actually even be there and be sad. And, the whole time, I'm going to be sitting there thinking I want to stand up and shout what bullshit. I want to stand up and tell people what he did, not just to me, but to other people. I don't know if I can just sit there and not do that." 

"What do you think would happen if you did?" 

Blair grinned sourly. "Well, you could probably see my name in the papers again, Sandburg Heir to Fortune Blasts Dead Lover at Local Funeral Service. Fuck. That would be a hell of a headline. Jim would be thrilled." 

"Would he?" 

Sobered, Blair shook his head. "No, he'd be mortified. That's another thing about this whole mess. We're being outed and it's dangerous for Jim if that happens." 

"I don't think that's Jim's greatest worry right now." 

"I know. He's worried about me." 

"Does he have reason?" 

"Oh, yeah." Blair got up and went to the side table to pour a cup of water. After he drank it down, he poured another and carried it back to the couch. "There's another reason I'm afraid of going to the service." 

"What?" 

"I'm really afraid I'll lose it. I'm usually pretty together, but the last week or so, man, I've been a real headcase. I don't want to do that in public." 

"Is control really that big a deal for you?" 

"Normally, no. But, like I said, I'm usually together. Right now I feel like I could fall apart and never find all the pieces. The press is going to be there and I sure as hell don't want everyone to see what a loser Jim's hooked up to." 

"You see yourself as a loser?" 

"Right now? Yeah." 

"Do you think Jim sees you that way?" 

"Jim loves me. That impairs his judgment." 

Doyle sat back, shaking his head and rubbing his face before he settled and spoke. "Blair, I don't think it's Jim's judgment that's impaired right now. Why don't you talk to him about going tomorrow and then go with your instinct?" 

"So, you're not going to help me decide?" 

"If you think it would be too stressful, don't go. If you think it might help you face your feelings and give you some kind of closure to what happened, you should. You have to decide for yourself, but you already know that." 

Finishing off his water, Blair nodded. "Yeah. But I still haven't decided." 

"Maybe you should sleep on it." 

"Sleep? Yeah, right." The laughter came out harsh as Blair stood up. "Thanks. I think I will go talk to Jim. I need to figure this thing out, plus, I need to apologize." 

"For what?" 

"For being such an asshole this morning." 

"Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Why don't you make an appointment and come back to see me tomorrow?" 

Blair looked away, embarrassed. "I know. We agreed to daily sessions for awhile and I didn't show up. I'm sorry." 

"It's okay, but I would like to see you. I think we could work things out a little more smoothly with a team effort, don't you?" 

"Maybe. I'll call you later." 

"Anytime." 

Blair met caring brown eyes and then looked away quickly. He hated being the cause of so much concern, hated the gnawing gut reaction that Doyle had damn good reason to be worried. 

* * *

Continued in part three.

This story has been split into four parts for easier loading. 

## Mentor 3

by Grey

* * *

Mentor 3 - part three   
by Grey 

Jim rubbed both eyes with the heel of his fists, the sandpaper grit brought on by lack of sleep burning even under his lids. "Hey, Jim." 

Startled, he looked up, Blair's face tense and waiting. "Hey, Chief. What are you doing here? I didn't expect you in today." 

"I know. I needed to come by and talk. You got a minute? It's important." 

"Sure. What's going on?" 

"Not here. Can we take a walk or go some place private?" 

The serious tone and Blair's nervousness scared him. "No problem. Simon's down in records. Let's go in there for a minute." 

Blair nodded and said hello to three other people before they finally got behind closed doors and Jim lowered the blinds. "Okay, Blair. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing's wrong, man. I just wanted to say I was sorry about last night and this morning. I was out of line." 

Calming, Jim stepped closer, his touch welcomed as he pulled Blair to him. Holding him, he rubbed his hand along his back and kissed his neck and cheek. "It's okay." 

Blair returned the hug and then gently pulled away. "I know I've been a real ass lately. I appreciate you putting up with me." 

"I love you." Misted blue eyes met his before the younger man turned away, his head down, his breathing too labored. "What going on, Blair?" 

"I'm just a little strung out right now. I needed to see you and make sure it was okay between us." 

"Of course, it is." Jim took a step nearer, his hand on his arm. "But you need to sit down for a minute. I've got something important you need to know. I want to tell you myself and not let you hear it on the news." 

"And I need to sit down? Shit. What is it?" 

"Sit down first." 

"Man, I don't like the sound of this." As he settled in the seat, his face got even more grim. "What is it, Jim? Did someone get hurt?" 

"Thomas Quint was murdered last night." Jim didn't know what reaction he expected, but total silence wasn't it. "Did you hear me?" 

"I heard you." He didn't look up, didn't move, but his breathing and heartbeat went even faster. 

Jim sat down across from him, his nerves stretched out. "What are you thinking?" 

"That it's about time." 

"Yeah, it is surprising he lasted so long." 

"What's surprising is I'm actually glad somebody's dead. Shit, Jim. What does that make me?" 

"Human." 

Blair met his eyes and shook his head. "Tell me you're not heading this case." 

"I am, actually." 

"Did you tell Simon about what happened?" 

"I've told him Thomas was involved with Stoddard and the journals. Not that he was the one who raped you, though I'm pretty sure he's figured that out." 

"Fuck. I'm fucked, that's all there is to it." Blair stood up, his voice getting more wound up. 

"Settle down, Blair. It's going to be okay." 

"How do you figure that? Half the fucking world knows about me and Eli. Now they're going to find out about everything else. Man, I can't believe this is happening." 

"Nobody's going to find out anything they don't need to. His death may have nothing to do with you. It could be something totally unrelated." 

Blair nodded, his nervousness eased by the thin promise in Jim's words. "Do you really think so?" 

"We've been running more background checks and found out that Quint was involved in some smuggling and black market connections through his import business. It's possible that he might have been killed over some deal gone bad." 

"And you believe that?" 

"We're just trying to cover all the bases." 

"And I'm one of those bases, Jim. Admit it." 

Jim waited a moment before he answered and then nodded. "Yeah, you could be. But so could several other young men Stoddard and Quint used like they did you. I've got a list of names from the journals I read. What I need from you is a list of people you think might have a grudge against Quint, too." 

"Come on, man, no way." 

"What do you mean, no way?" 

"I mean, that stuff's private. I can't give you a list of people so you can disrupt their lives all over again." 

Jim took several deep breaths before he trusted himself to speak calmly. "I'm not going to disrupt lives any more than I have to. I need your help on this, Chief. I want to find the person responsible for this so we can forget about it and get on with our own lives." 

Standing up, Blair shook his head. "And you think that's going to happen? That we can just forget about it? Can you forget about it, Jim? I know I sure as hell can't." 

"I didn't mean it like that." 

"Then what did you mean?" 

"I just meant we could maybe deal with it better than we are now. We have to do something." 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut and touched his forehead, pausing before he spoke. "I can't do this right now. Maybe tonight, but not now." 

"I need those names, Blair." 

"I can't. Not unless everything else comes up empty. Don't ask me to do that." 

Weighing his options of letting it go and pushing, Jim noted the fatigue of his partner and found the decision easier than it should be. "All right. I've still got a lot of other leads I can follow." 

"Thanks." Blair turned toward the door, his hand on the knob. "I'll see you at home then, okay?" 

"Sure. Want me to bring dinner?" 

"No, I'll fix something or order out. Just give me a call before you leave and I'll have it ready when you get there." 

"You promise to answer this time?" 

Blair shrugged and gave a small smile. "Sure, I can do phones." 

"Sometimes." 

As he opened the door, an unfamiliar man met him on the other side. "Mr. Blair Sandburg?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You've been served." He handed him a folded document, tipped his hat, and left. 

Blair opened the form, his hands shaking. "Shit." 

"What is it, Chief?" 

"I have to make a statement for Reardon's lawyer tomorrow morning or face charges." 

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder as he read the paper. "We knew this was coming. I'll call Caldwell. He's supposed to be there." 

"It's okay, Jim. I can do this." 

"I still want Caldwell there." 

"Me, too, man. But I can handle it. In fact, I've decided that if Reardon wants to fuck with me, I'll screw him to his own damn wall." 

Smiling, Jim patted him on the back. "Now, that's my peaceful, friendly guide talking." 

Blair didn't say anything else, just shook his head and laughed lightly as he went out, avoiding all the concerned glances that followed his every movement. 

* * *

Candle light mixed with the rich scent of potatoes and onions welcomed him to the loft. "Hey, Chief. What's cooking?" 

"Homemade soup and fresh bread as soon as I heat the oven. I thought you might want to shower first, so I held off." 

"Sounds great. What's the occasion?" He slipped off his jacket and locked the door before walking over to lift the lid on the pot. 

"Nothing special. I just picked up some bread from the bakery and went to the grocery. We were out of almost everything except salt." 

Blair touched Jim's back lightly and waited for him to turn. Lips met his and the kiss lingered, Blair pressing his body close. Then the younger man moved in for a hug before he whispered, "I've missed you." 

Embracing the strong body a bit tighter, Jim answered him with another kiss, his tongue probing deep, his whole body responding to the heated moan. Pulling back just a little, Jim pleaded in a hush. "Let's go upstairs, babe. I've missed you, too." 

Blair stiffened and moved away, his face flushed. "I want to, Jim, but not just this minute. I want to eat and just relax a little first. We've got some things we need to talk about." 

Reluctantly, Jim sighed and dropped his head to Blair's shoulder. "Okay, but I like my idea better." The pouty tease brought the smile he wanted. "I'll go shower and be out in no time, okay?" 

"Sure, man." An open hand touched the center of his chest before he turned to leave. "Thanks." 

"No thanks needed. Self-control is a good thing. Or at least that's what my drill sergeant used to always tell us before making us march double time with 40 pound packs." Using both hands to hold Blair's face, he kissed his forehead and then headed for the bathroom. 

"It should be done in about fifteen minutes." 

"No hurry." 

Closing the door behind him, he took a long deep breath and reached down in frustration to unzip and rub his raging hard on. God, he wanted Blair so much. He stripped off quickly and turned on the hot spray. Climbing in, he pulled the curtain and found the soap, the lather thick and creamy as he slicked his own cock. Determined smooth strokes wound the heat up his spine as back muscles tightened. Thighs grew heavy as he pumped his own hand, the need to come growing, his eyes shut, the lights flashing with a quick release. The spasms doubled him over as he put out his other hand to steady himself, the tile surface slippery beneath his shaking flesh. 

Water pelted his face back to full awareness as he straightened up, the sexual pressure lessened. He reached for more soap and a cloth and got busy getting ready to spend quality time with his man without any dangerous distractions. 

* * *

"Man, you outdid yourself on that one, Chief." Jim stretched back on the couch, using both hands to pat and rub his belly. "You ever decide you want to stop teaching, you could be a chef and write your own cookbook." 

"Yeah, I can see it now. The Sentinel Tamer Guide Book." 

Jim smiled and turned on his side so he could rest his chin on the back of the sofa. He watched with contentment as Blair finished putting the food away. "Is that what you were going for? Tame the sentinel? You think I'm that easy? Fill my belly and I'm all yours?" The words came out light and teasing and worked magic. Blair grinned as he closed the refrigerator and put the last swipe across the counter. 

"I think it'd take a little more than some herbal potato soup to tame you, Jim." 

"You bet, babe." 

Hanging up the towel, Blair wiped off his hands, turned off the kitchen light, and came over to sit beside Jim. Wrapping his arms around Jim's middle, he rested his head on his chest and lay there quietly while the older man combed his fingers through his hair over and over. After a few more minutes, Blair finally spoke, his voice relaxed. "I've missed this." 

"What? Dinner and dishes?" 

"This. Just being here together. Quiet." 

"Yeah, I knew what you meant. Me, too." After a few more moments, Jim asked, "So, how's your wrist doing? You seem to be using your hand with no problem." 

"It's a little sore, but nothing like it was. There's a nasty scab, but it's healing and I can almost bend it now. I still have to be careful lifting, though. Almost dropped a whole jar of peanut butter at the store. It's nice to have two hands again." 

"Don't overdo it though, okay?" 

"Sure, mom." 

Jim mussed the dark curls and kissed the top of his head. "Don't bring Naomi into this, kid." Blair stiffened and pulled away, his face suddenly pale. "What's wrong?" 

"Don't call me that." 

"What? Kid?" As he started to get up, Jim gripped his arm. "Wait a minute. What's going on?" 

"Nothing. Just let go." As he released him, Blair stood up and went to the window, his back to Jim, his body shaking. He wrapped both arms around his gut and struggled with the words. "I'm sorry." 

"Tell me what just happened." 

"It's stupid." 

"It's not stupid if you're this upset. What'd I do?" 

"It's not you." 

"Well, I'm the only one here, Chief, so give me a clue." 

Blair turned and leaned back against the wall. "Eli called me kid all the time. You never do." 

"Fuck." Jim fought down the urge to slam his fist through the wall. He calmed himself before he spoke again. "Simon calls you kid and you never say anything." 

"I'm not sleeping with Simon. It's not the same." 

"I guess not." Jim swallowed hard, his body no longer relaxed. "I'm sorry, Blair. I won't do it again." 

"It's okay. Like I said, it's not you. It's my problem, not yours." 

"Fuck that. We're in this together. Something hurts you, it hurts me. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?" 

"I don't know. I'm trying." 

"I know you are." Jim held out his arm and patted the sofa with the other. "Come on back and sit down. Let me hold you some more." 

"Holding's good." 

As the younger man slipped back down beside him, Jim pulled him into his embrace and noted the remaining tension. "Just relax. It's going to be okay. You just have to give yourself more time." 

"I know. I just hate feeling so damn jumpy all the time. It's not fair to you, either." 

"Fair's not the issue. You've been hurt. We just have to be patient." 

Blair's whiskers scraped his chest with a slow, easy burn through the thin cotton of his T-shirt as he nodded. "I need to ask you a favor. You can say no if you want." 

"Why don't you ask it before you make up my answers, want to?" 

"It's about tomorrow." 

"I'll be at the meeting with Reardon's lawyer. Don't worry." 

Blair lifted his head and pulled away slightly, his body still maintaining contact. "I know. I figured. That's not what I wanted to ask." 

Noting the serious tone and frightened eyes, Jim clenched his jaw several times before he managed to form the words. "You want to go to the service, right?" 

"I don't want to, man, but I think I should." As Jim started to take his arm away, Blair held on tighter. "Listen, Jim. Almost every culture in the world has death rituals for a reason and it's not because the dead need them to move on. They help the living find some kind of closure, some way to accept the end of some part of their lives. I think I need that." 

Jim cupped the side of Blair's face, the once clear eyes haunted. "If you need to go, that's okay with me, Chief." 

"But I want you to go with me. That's the favor." 

"Shit. Couldn't I just open a vein and give blood instead?" He smiled weakly and ran the back of his hand up the side of Blair's cheek, the familiar roughness somehow soothing. 

"I know it's a lot to ask. Everybody's going to be watching." 

Leaning in, Jim kissed his lips lightly and pulled back before he whispered, "Do you think I'd let you go through something like that on your own, Blair?" 

"It won't be easy." 

"Easier than thinking about you going by yourself with all those vultures around. No way is that going to happen." 

Blair smiled and ran his left index finger along Jim's lower lip, the warm touch tingling. "I love you more than anyone I can imagine. I hope you know that." 

"I do." Jim opened his mouth wide enough to allow Blair's finger to enter. He sucked and nibbled as he closed his eyes, the rich taste intoxicatingly exotic. Lips closed on his neck, the tiny licks and bites working up the side of his jaw to his ear before finally stopping. Foggy-minded he opened his eyes to see Blair's amusement. "What?" 

"Let's go upstairs and I'll give you something better to suck than a finger." 

Sentinel feet never moved faster. 

* * *

A rapid shift in the pattern of breathing woke him, the sudden jerking coupled with panted whimpers bringing awareness quickly. "Blair, wake up. Now." 

The scream could've been no, but sounded more pitiful, wide open and full of fear. Jim wrapped his arms around his lover and prepared to control the struggle, the arms and legs as strong as he knew them to be as they desperately lashed out and kicked for freedom. But he held on until the battle stopped long enough for Blair to slam his head back and then forward with stunning force to his upper chest. "Shit." 

A few seconds later, Blair slumped in his arms, too still except for the racing of his heart and rapid breathing. When he didn't move after a few moments, Jim shook him gently, "Blair?" 

"God. Make it stop." 

"Make what stop?" 

"All of it." 

Palming the back of his head, Jim took a relieved breath and loosened his grip enough for Blair to pull away. "I wish I could, babe. I can't." 

"I know." Blair sat back, and tucked his legs under him, both hands covering his haggard face. "I'm so tired of this shit." 

"Maybe you should talk about it." 

"I can't." 

"Why not? What was it this time?" 

Blair shifted enough to get back under the covers and lie down. He pulled up the blanket avoiding Jim's piercing stare. "You don't want to hear this." 

"Who says? I told you before, Chief. What hurts you, hurts me." He touched the center of his own chest, the new bruise already forming. "And, it's starting to get literal." 

"God, I'm sorry." Blair sat up, fingering the skin lightly, his face strained. 

"I know that. Tell me about the dream." 

Lying back, Blair stared up at the ceiling, his voice low, but even. "It starts out with the case. We're at the last scene. You've got Reardon in cuffs, but Paul's free and he's leading me off. He says there's another victim. I follow him into this dark room, but then he pushes me down. I can't move, man. It's like he's holding me, but then it's not him. It's Thomas. He's..." His voice stalled as each word becomes more wet, more choked. 

"He what, Blair?" 

"Pushing into me. Fucking me like he did. And, it hurts so much I can't breathe. Eli and David are there, laughing, holding me down, fucking my face and touching me, cutting me." He rolled on his side, away from Jim as he drew his knees up and covered his eyes. "I hate this." 

Dazed, Jim swallowed several times before he could speak, the air slowly rocking his lungs. "It's okay, Blair. It was just a dream." 

"It's so real." 

"I know. I've had those, too. But it's over." 

"I want it to be." 

"Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Who's David?" 

"David?" 

"Yeah, you said Eli and David were there? Who the hell is David?" 

Blair sat up again, his face bewildered. "I meant Paul." 

"But you _said_ David." 

"Fuck." 

"What is it?" Blair threw back the covers and stood up, not reaching for his glasses or robe, his whole body in a panic. He headed down the stairs with Jim right behind him. "Wait." 

"I can't, man. I can't believe I didn't remember. Fuck. I didn't remember." Blair paced several times before he finally stopped and slumped into a chair at the table. "Jesus, Jim. No wonder you fucking freak when you remember shit." A deep shudder took his body and then he put his right fist to his mouth, his teeth biting the edges of his flesh before Jim could stop him. 

"Enough, Blair. Enough." He kneeled before Blair and gently plied the hand from his face. "Repression's a bitch. I know. Now, tell me what you remembered." 

"David Kaufmann." He said the name like an invocation, his eyes staring off into a world not inside the loft. "He was my mother's boyfriend when we were in Miami for awhile. I was nine the first time." 

Shit. Jim touched his face tenderly, the chill of revelation icing his bones. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to be right, but he had to. "The first time for what, Blair?" 

"We'd just gotten home from a baseball game, a great game, and I was still really excited. We started playing around, wrestling, and that's when it happened the first time. He held me down and told me to suck him off and I did." 

"Son of a bitch. Why didn't you tell Naomi?" 

"I don't know. I just didn't. I liked David. I thought if he liked me enough, he might be my dad some day, and I didn't want to spoil it. I never had a dad, you know?" 

"Yeah, I know. But, Chief. You know that's fucked up, right?" 

"Yeah, but at the time, I just wanted him to stay. He never physically hurt me. Sometimes I even liked it, but it didn't stop at blowjobs." 

"Shit." Jim stood up and drew a chair closer. As he sat down, he watched Blair's quiet, the unnatural calmness as he told such a horrible story. "How long did this go on?" 

"I don't know. As long as they were together. Not quite six months. I told you, I didn't even remember him until tonight. Man, this is so weird." 

"And you never told Naomi?" 

"No. I never told anybody, apparently not even myself." He ran his hand nervously back through his hair as he shook his head in amazement. "God, this is crazy." 

"No more crazy than me forgetting about the man who killed Bud or about most of what happened in Peru after the crash." 

Blair met his eyes for the first time, the pain and confusion etched in the edges of his face. "We're quite a pair, Ellison." 

"We're survivors, Chief. We're a team." 

Snorting and giving a twisted smile, Blair stroked his face, his fingers warm and teasing. "Yeah, I know. Trauma R Us. We need team T-shirts." 

"We need sleep. Let's go back to bed for awhile." 

Nodding, no longer shaking, Blair took his hand. "Okay. Just promise me one thing." 

"What's that?" 

"If I start dreaming again, just let me finish." 

"Why?" 

"Because now that I remember, I want to kick the bastard's butt." 

* * *

Jim came down the stairs to find Blair typing, the coffee made, and bagels on a plate ready to be toasted. "Morning, Chief. How are you feeling?" 

"Pretty good, actually. I'm caught up on my email and I'm writing out some notes about what I remember about what happened with Paul. I thought it might be useful when I talk to Reardon's lawyer. How about you?" 

"A little tired." 

"You didn't sleep much." 

"Neither did you." Blair didn't answer, his fingers typing away as he stared at the screen. He'd taken off his bandage and left the stitches bare, giving his hand the eerie effect of being reattached. 

Jim stepped closer and looked over his shoulder, noting the long list of numbered details. "Can I read it?" 

"If you want, but what you don't already know, you'll probably hear at the meeting this morning. Might as well wait." 

Jim nodded and walked to the counter, grabbed a mug, and poured some coffee. Lifting the pot a little higher, he asked, "Want a warm up?" 

"No, I'm fine." 

Leaning back, Jim studied the surprisingly energized movements of his partner. He didn't know whether to be relieved or suspicious. "Have you eaten?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

"Showered?" 

"Yep, and shaved, too, but you already know that. I'm sure you've been listening for ages." 

"I'm just worried." 

"I know. Go ahead and shower. I want to finish this and then I thought I'd start on some notes for an article I'm thinking about doing." 

Jim glanced at the clock. "We're supposed to meet Caldwell an hour before the meeting. That only gives us a couple of hours." 

"No problem. I just need to finish this." 

Jim sat down at the table and stilled Blair's hands to get his attention. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you remember what happened last night?" 

Looking first at his hands and then up at Jim, Blair frowned in annoyance. "Of course, I remember. It's not something I'd forget about." 

"Well, you did for almost twenty years." 

"Man, don't start, Jim. I'm not in the mood for this." 

"For what?" 

"For talking about it. It's over. I just need to get this stuff done so it can stop running around in my head." 

"Okay." Jim stood up and tightened the belt on his robe. "But it's not over. You can't just pretend nothing's different. This thing you remembered puts a whole new spin on things with Stoddard." 

"How do you figure that?" 

"Just think about it." 

"I don't want to think about it. In fact, if you don't mind, I'm trying damn hard _not_ to think about it. Now, can you just leave it the fuck alone?" 

"Sure, Chief. For now. In the meantime, I'm going to get a shower and when I get out, you're going to eat something. Don't think I haven't noticed you've lost weight over the last couple of weeks." 

Annoyed, Blair pushed his glasses up and went back to typing. "Did anyone ever mention you're a bossy son of a bitch sometimes?" 

"And your point?" 

"Go take a shower, Jim." The order came out curt, the voice tinged with anger. 

Jim scratched the back of his head, baffled by the strange mood. Not for the first time, he stood at the fringe of the Sandburg zone, dazed and bewildered. 

* * *

"That's an excellent list of details, Mr. Sandburg, but hold on to it." Marshall Caldwell handed back the paper and then leaned back in his chair. About thirty, his square, rugged face and stocky build made him look more like a dock worker than a successful defense lawyer. "I recommend you don't volunteer any information not specifically requested by Mr. Frank." 

"But I thought it'd just be simpler this way." 

"Let me do the thinking on this one, okay?" Caldwell jotted down a quick note before he looked back up. "Now, what I want to make clear is that I'm here to protect your rights in this matter. I've studied this case extensively both from prosecution and defense stances. I know Frank says he wants your statement for one reason, but I suspect another agenda." 

Jim leaned forward. "What's that?" 

"Detective, you're ex-military. What's the best way of keeping the enemy from hitting its main target short of a strong offensive force or defensive line?" 

"A diversion." 

"Correct. You're an excellent detective. Your case against Reardon is rock solid. He's got no defensive line to speak of. Mr. Sandburg here is his diversion. He's going to try to throw him at the jury to support the idea that Donovan rather than Reardon is the one who actually committed the murders. If he's successful, Reardon won't get off, but he won't die, either." 

Blair shook his head, rubbing his forefinger with his thumb nervously. "But I don't understand. Paul was a minor. He admitted to killing Patterson, but not the others. In fact, he said he only did whatever Reardon told him. Doesn't that leave Reardon responsible?" 

"Of course, it does. But he's going to distract the jury with the sensational details, try to make it appear that Donovan rather than Reardon is the one who initiated the torture and rape which led up to the killings." 

"But Reardon participated. We've got the DNA matches to prove that." Edgy, Jim stood up and paced behind the chairs, his body too tight to sit still. 

"Again, that's true, but Frank doesn't have much to work with. By bringing in the attempted sexual attack on Mr. Sandburg, he can muddy the waters. Bringing in the homosexual aspect makes everything even more emotionally charged. It makes the jury less apt to remember the focus of the case." 

"This sucks." Blair leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. After just a few seconds, he brought his head up, his face flushed with rage. "I'm tired of this shit. What the hell does my being gay have to do with anything? Is he going to try to make it look like I deserved to get attacked? Is that what he's trying to do? Make it look like I caused what happened with Paul?" 

"Settle down, Chief. We're just fielding all the possibilities." 

"Fuck that. I just want it to stop." 

"Mr. Sandburg, calm down. Please. Just hear me out." Caldwell held up a hand as he spoke, his voice strong and forceful. "I know you're upset, but that's not going to help us. If anything, that's what he wants. Lose your cool, and he's got the picture that he wants." 

"And what picture is that, Caldwell?" Jim stepped closer to the desk, his own emotion barely checked. 

"The image of a young man seduced by another gay man, a gay man who used that attraction to manipulate Paul Donovan into lying about Michael Reardon in order to capture him. The fact that Donovan attacked you only plays to the notion of how unstable he was. Showing your anger lets him make it appear that you're some kind of avatar to that kind of instability. Frank can use that to actually promote the idea that Reardon might have feared for his own safety." 

"That's total bullshit. I never did that." 

"Of course, it is. I'm here to point that out, to note that you were never alone with Donovan. I plan to bring in depositions from Dr. Doyle as well as other physicians, social workers, and police officers that show that. Some of your meetings were actually recorded. Believe me, I can blow away any charge he makes in that direction. But..." Caldwell leaned forward in his chair, both hands fisted together, and met Blair's eyes. "You need to prepared for the journey if it happens. If I can't persuade him that the prize won't be worth it, you may have a very rough time on the stand." 

Jim stepped up and stood behind Blair, his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Then I suggest we convince him that no one wins if he takes that road." 

"I plan to. What I need is Mr. Sandburg to be in control of his emotions. If Frank even sniffs a single weak point, he's going to run with it." Looking from Jim back to Blair, he asked directly. "So, can you do that? Can you keep yourself together and only answer what I tell you to while we're in there today?" 

Sitting up straighter, Blair nodded, his face transformed. The smile didn't reach his eyes, but only a good observer would see that. "Chief, can you do that?" 

"Just watch me." 

* * *

"Remarkable." Caldwell stood up and put his papers in his briefcase, his face satisfied and smug. 

"You think that's it, then?" Jim talked, but kept his eye on Blair. 

"I think that we've made it pretty clear that he's not going to get a gay showcase to parade through court or the papers." 

"So, you think he's going to lay off Sandburg?" 

"I think that's a stronger possibility than it was. We won't know for sure until the trial. However, based on my gut instincts, I'd say he's rethinking his strategy. Reardon would be a lot better off with a plea bargain than a trial anyway." Caldwell turned and studied the quiet grad student. "I think you surprised him, Mr. Sandburg. I know you surprised me." 

"Yeah? How's that?" 

"You're a much better actor than he suspected." 

"Practice makes perfect and all that shit." Blair stood up, his face still a calm mask, his voice tight, but not breaking. "Are we done here?" 

"Yes. I've directed all communication about this to come through me, so I'll contact you if something happens." 

"Thanks." Blair ignored Jim and walked out, closing the door behind him. 

"Your partner did a good job in here today, detective." 

"Yeah, he did." Jim stayed put as he tracked his lover's vitals. Knowing the many moods of Sandburg, leaving him to settle down alone for awhile seemed only prudent. 

"Better than you." 

The criticism brought him back to the room. "I know. I'm sorry." Jim looked down at his hands, embarrassed by his lack of control earlier. 

"You could've blown it." 

"I said I was sorry. Frank's such an asshole." 

"Maybe, but if the worst scenario happens, your friend is going to need your support without any posturing on your part. That front of his may fool Frank, but you and I both know he's not as okay with what happened as he pretends." 

"No, he's not." 

"He's seeing someone, a doctor, right?" 

Jim met his eyes, his defenses going up. "And why do you need to know that?" 

"I'm his lawyer as well as yours, detective. I need to know he's going to still be together if we have to go to court. That kind of control takes a lot of energy." 

"Yes, he's seeing someone." 

"Good." Caldwell paused and rested his hand on his briefcase while he spoke. "I know it's not part of the case, but is it true he was once involved with Eli Stoddard?" 

"Why do you ask?" 

"Because I knew the man. He wasn't a client, but he did try to retain my services once." 

"You turned him down?" 

Caldwell met Jim's eyes, his face hardened. "I got my undergrad degree at Rainier. I know about Stoddard. I wouldn't take his business if I had to starve because of it." 

"Now, who's showing emotion?" 

"What always galled me was that everyone seemed to know what a bastard he was, but no one did anything to stop it." 

Jim sat down on the edge of one of the tables. "Did you ever hear the name Thomas Quint in connection with Stoddard?" 

"Quint? Why?" 

"Just wondering. He was murdered yesterday. I think it may have something to do with Stoddard's recent death." 

"And you're the lead investigator?" 

"Yeah." 

"Is that wise considering your connection to Sandburg?" 

"I've got my reasons." 

Caldwell nodded and then pulled out a sheet of paper and jotted down a name and address. He handed it to Jim and picked up his briefcase. "You want to know about Eli Stoddard, go talk to David Horton. He used to be a dean at the school, but there were rumors he lost his job because he tried to go against Stoddard. The official word was that he was fired because of immoral practices, translated he had sex with a minor of the same gender. Talk to him. He might be able to help get a lead on Quint." 

"Thanks." Jim folded the paper and asked, "How do you know about all that?" 

Caldwell smiled ruefully. "That's privileged information, detective. Suffice it to say, the sex between David Horton and said minor may have been illegal, but it was consensual. I was 17 at the time. Go see him." 

As soon as he left, Jim lowered his face to his palm and muttered, "Damn. I hate this shit." 

* * *

"Chief?" Blair bent over the sink in the restroom, rinsing his face several times. When he didn't answer, Jim asked, "Are you okay?" 

The younger man stood up and turned around, the water dripping down onto his blue sweater. He reached over and grabbed a towel to dry his face, the paper dragging across the roughness of his beard. "I'll be fine in a minute." 

"You did a great job in there." 

"Thanks. One down, one more to go." 

"The service starts at three. I thought we should have lunch first." 

"I can't eat right now." 

"You didn't eat breakfast." Jim stepped closer, lifting his chin easily with his finger. "I know this is rough. I do. But letting yourself get run down isn't the answer." 

Pulling away from close contact, Blair wadded up the towel and tossed it away. "What were you and Caldwell talking about after I left?" 

"He gave me a lead on the Quint case." 

"A lead?" 

"Yeah, he mentioned an ex-dean named Horton. Said he might know about any connections Quint had with Stoddard." 

Blair suddenly stilled and braced himself against the wall. "Horton? David Horton?" 

"Yeah. You know him?" 

"I know him." 

Jim remained patient for only a moment and then prompted. "Are you going to tell me or what?" 

"Tell you what?" 

"What you know about Horton?" 

"He was a friend of Eli's, but then David got pissed about how he treated me. After that, well, I heard he got thrown out a few years later because he got caught with a minor." Blair took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "In the journal, Eli mentions Caldwell was the minor, but that was years ago. He brags about turning David into the administration and getting him fired." 

"So, you already knew about Caldwell?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

Blair met his eyes and shrugged. "It was a long time ago, Jim. It had nothing to do with now, or, at least I didn't think it did." 

"Shit." 

"I'm sorry." 

"This whole thing is making me sick." 

"What?" 

"This thing at the university. What is it, some kind of secret initiation? You have to fuck a kid to get tenure or something?" 

Blair's voice came out in a choked hush. "I make you sick?" 

He tried to touch his lover's shoulder only to have him jerk away. "I didn't say that, Blair." 

"That's what I heard." 

"I swear to you, that's not what I meant. It's just every time I turn around, I hear of one more old man who screwed some kid. That's what makes me sick. Not you or Caldwell." 

"Whatever." Standing up, Blair straightened his sweater and pushed back a wild curl escaping from the tie at the nape of his neck. "I don't want to argue." 

"Me, either. I need to check in at forensics and then we can go eat. After that, we'll do the service." 

"No. I think I'll meet you at the service later. I'm tired." 

"I can drive you home to rest if you want." 

"I'm not going home." Blair met his eyes and stepped closer. "Don't worry. I just have to work a few things out." 

"And how do you plan to do that?" 

"I called Doyle. He can see me." 

Jim smiled, his relief not disguised in the least. "Sounds good." 

"I thought you'd like that. I saw him yesterday, too." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I don't know. Does it matter?" 

"I guess not." Stepping in closer, he asked, "You need a ride?" 

"If you promise not to stop at Wonderburger." 

Snorting, Jim laughed out loud. "Nope. But there's always Chinese. You don't even have to get out of the truck and they give you these cute little boxes to take with you." 

Blair shook his head, slapped Jim on the back and headed for the door of the restroom. "Man, you never give up." 

"Nope. And you love it." 

"I love you in spite of your faults, Jim, not because of them." 

"Faults? What faults?" A deep smile graced his lips as Blair's coughing laugh made him happy. 

* * *

"Mr. Horton? Detective Ellison, Cascade PD." Jim held up his badge as he stood at the door of the small house. "Could I come in?" 

"Sure. Marshall called and said you'd probably be coming over." 

As Horton closed the door, Jim noted the room filled with row after row of books. "Is this a library?" 

"No, but this house is a lot smaller than my last place. Want a drink, detective?" 

"No, thanks. I need to talk to you about Eli Stoddard." 

"Have a seat then. This might take a minute." The older man poured himself some whiskey and waited until Jim sat down before he spoke. "You're the detective on the Reardon case, right?" 

"Yes, sir. Now, about Stoddard..." 

"And you're Blair Sandburg's partner?" 

"He's a consultant to the police department and my partner, yes." 

"He was a beautiful boy." Horton sat back, sipped his whiskey, and spread his arm across the back of the sofa. The tone put Jim on edge, the man's obvious sexual delight at the youthful image of his partner disgusting. 

"I'm not here to talk about my partner. I need to know about a man name Thomas Quint." 

"So, what do you need to know?" 

"You know him?" 

"Of course, I know him. He and Stoddard were thick as thieves for close to thirty-five years. Whatever Stoddard did, Thomas was soon to follow." 

"Can you be more specific?" 

Horton finished his drink and stood to get another. "I don't normally drink so early, detective, but this is a subject worthy of intoxication." 

"Get to the point, Mr. Horton." 

"That's Dr. Horton, thank you. And what I mean is that those two men shared everything, lovers and business. It was a well known fact that Eli would get a new boy for the year and that he and Thomas would share him." The hateful laugh got drowned out as Horton took another drink. "Ironic that I was the one thrown out for immoral behavior." 

"You did break the law." 

"Did I?" 

"You had sex with a minor." 

"Please." Horton put up a hand and then massaged his temples. "I loved Marshall. We were together for five years before he decided I was a bit too morose for his tastes. I never treated him like Stoddard treated Sandburg or any of the others. But, who gets his ass kicked? Me, that's who." 

Jim clenched his jaws several times as he worked to contain his anger at the man's rationalizations and the mention of his partner. "Why do you think that was?" 

"Because everyone was scared shitless, that's why. Between the two of them, Stoddard and Quint had most of the people on campus by the proverbial balls. Hell, in some cases it was literal. Bastards, both of them." He lifted a glass and toasted, "May Eli Stoddard roast in hell, damn him." 

"And what about Thomas Quint?" 

"What about him?" 

"Do you want him to roast in hell, too?" 

"Well, of course, but he has to die first." 

"He's already dead. Didn't Caldwell tell you that's why I was investigating?" 

"Shit." Horton sat down, holding his head and looking bewildered. 

"What's wrong?" 

"He can't be dead." 

"Why not?" 

"It's the strangest thing." 

"What?" Jim moved into his line of sight trying to get his attention. "You're losing me. What's so strange about Quint being dead?" 

Horton looked up, his eyes glassy from the alcohol. "I was just talking to someone and he mentioned talking to Quint just a few hours ago. Said he wouldn't be able to come to the ceremony. Of course, I could give a shit if Quint was there, but still... 

"Who were you talking to?" 

"Dewey Crenshaw." 

"Crenshaw? The man who runs the Stoddard collection at the university?" 

"Yes. I helped him with some of his databases for his archive. A sweet boy. He didn't deserve to be treated so badly by either of those pricks." 

Adrenaline got him to his feet and Jim asked once more. "And this Crenshaw said he'd talked to Quint this morning? You're sure about that?" 

"That's what he told me. I take it Quint was dead already." 

"Yes, but it may mean nothing." 

"But why would he say it?" 

"I don't know. Guess I'll ask." 

"Well, I can tell you where he'll be this afternoon." 

"The memorial service." 

Horton snorted a laugh and finished another drink. "Going to be quite the little send off. Talk about ironic. Most of the people there won't know whether to cry or cheer about the fucker dying." 

As Jim turned to leave, he knew which side he'd be on. 

* * *

Blair paced back and forth, his injured hand aching and throbbing as he rubbed it and picked at the scab. He didn't talk, just worked to control the terrible urge to scream fuck this shit at the top of his lungs over and over. 

"Blair, you seem a little agitated. You want to tell me what's going on?" 

"I think I'm going nuts." 

Doyle settled back at his desk and shook his head, a weak smile on his face. "If that were true, you probably wouldn't be here." 

"Ever had one of those days when you're glad you're not a cop anymore?" 

"Yeah. Almost every morning. Why?" 

"Because I keep wishing Jim weren't a cop. I keep wishing he'd wake up and want to quit, to find something else to do so we wouldn't have to keep doing this." 

"Doing what?" 

"Solving murders. Seeing dead bodies. Getting caught up in all this shit that never seems to fucking end." The fervor of his words grew with each sentence. "If Jim weren't a cop, we'd never have been involved with Reardon." 

"Or Paul Donovan." 

"Right. God, I'm so pissed I can't stand myself." Using his left hand, he banged his fist into his forehead a couple of times before he finally sat down, his body still charged. "I'm so fucking stupid." 

Doyle pushed his chair back and remained calm, his words smooth and even. "Why do you think you're stupid?" 

"I should be able to handle this, to figure out a way to stop feeling so lousy, but every time I turn around, it's right back in my face." 

"What is?" 

"Stoddard." He took several deep breaths and bit his lower lip to calm himself. "I decided to go to the service. I'm hoping it'll make me feel better. At this point, I'm thinking it couldn't hurt." 

"Is Jim going with you?" 

"Yeah. I'm supposed to meet him there." Blair paused, avoiding the eyes, staring instead at the row of puckered stitches around his wrist. "I remembered something last night." 

"What?" 

"I was molested when I was nine." 

Doyle sat up straighter, his face grim and serious and his breathing hitched. "Are you saying you just remembered?" 

"I had this dream and all of a sudden it flashed into place. This guy my mom dated. It was so strange, but I know it happened." 

"And, how did that make you feel to remember that now?" 

"Weird." 

"Weird how?" 

"Like it wasn't real. I mean, I know it happened, because I remember it all clearly, but it's like it can't touch me anymore, like it was somebody else." 

"Like you're safe now?" 

"I'm not sure." Sitting back, Blair pursed his lips as he thought and pushed back his hair. "You know on the Thompson case I asked about repression." 

"I remember. You said Jim had some problems after Peru." 

"Yeah, he admits that. The thing is, you said we tend to repress trauma and then we let memories come back when we feel safe, when we can handle things better. I don't get how that works in this case. I don't feel safe. If anything, I feel about ready to lose it." 

"Lose what?" 

"Lose Jim." Blair stopped and put his hand to his mouth, his eyes suddenly wider. "Shit. I didn't mean to say that." 

"Maybe you did. Are you afraid of losing Jim?" 

"A little." 

"Why?" 

"Let's face it, there are easier people than me to be with right now." 

Doyle put both hands together on his desk, and studied him. "Has Jim said or done anything at all to make that a realistic fear?" 

"I told you I was going nuts. Realism has nothing to do with it." 

Patiently, Doyle disagreed. "You're not going nuts, Blair. Seriously, why are you afraid of losing Jim?" 

"He gets frustrated with good reason. I've been a pain in the ass lately. I don't mean to, but I see myself doing shit just to see how far I can push him. You know Jim. Tell me that's not crazy." 

Amused, Doyle shook his head. "You're right. I do know Jim. He's nothing if not stubborn. It's going to take a lot more than a few frustrations and pushes to drive him away. He loves you." 

For the first time during the session, Blair relaxed enough to smile. "Yeah, he does. Sometimes I wonder why, but he always finds a reason. Maybe he's the one who's crazy." 

"You want to tell him that?" 

"You _must_ be joking." 

* * *

"Dewey Crenshaw?" 

The young man turned around, his blue eyes striking. "Detective Ellison I presume?" 

"You know me?" 

"I know _of_ you. You worked on the Reardon case. I assume you're here because of Thomas." 

"Why would you think that?" 

Crenshaw looked around and motioned with his head to follow. As soon as they were both more removed from the main crowd of the memorial service, he spoke quietly. "I used to live with Thomas. Ms. Mabely his neighbor called me about the murder. I figured you'd probably want to talk to me." 

"You figured right. When did you last see Quint?" 

"A few days ago. He was upset about Eli and just wanted to talk." 

"Not this morning?" 

Startled, Crenshaw shook his head. "Why would you think that?" 

"A Dr. Horton said you told him that Quint was too ill to come to the ceremony." 

Crossing his arms, Crenshaw took a deep breath. "I don't want to say anything against David, Detective, but if you saw him, you probably noticed that he drinks a bit. Well, to be honest, more than a bit." 

"I noticed." 

"I think he's confused. I never said anything about Thomas. I mean, why would I? He hates Thomas. I told him I'd been ill, not Thomas." 

"You don't look ill now, though that bruise looks a little painful." 

Absently touching his hand to his right cheek, Crenshaw shrugged. "It's nothing, really. It's just I wasn't exactly feeling that great this morning and I guess David misunderstood me." 

Jim nodded, but noted the stressed vital signs. "You said you lived with Quint at one time. When did that end?" 

"Last year." 

"And what did he say when you saw him a few days ago? What day specifically? Did he mention anyone he might have a problem with?" Suddenly nervous, Crenshaw glanced up at Jim and then quickly looked away. "What is it?" 

"It was Tuesday. This isn't really the best time to discuss this, Detective. Couldn't I just come down to the station tomorrow?" 

"If you tell me what I need to know, you won't even have to bother. Now, did Quint mention any problems he had with anyone in particular?" 

"You're not going to want to hear this, but, yes, he mentioned being pissed off about Sandburg getting Eli's estate. In particular he wanted the personal journals." 

"Did he say why?" 

Crenshaw met Jim's eyes for the first time in conversation. "We don't have to play games, detective. You and I both know about those journals. Blair says he burned them, but that's not the point. Thomas was mad because he thought it should all be his, not Blair's. He wanted the house and money, too, but he was really upset about the notebooks." 

"Did he say if he was going to do something about it, like maybe try to get the journals back?" 

"No, he didn't say, but I'll tell you this. If Thomas wanted something, he usually got it. Sandburg's lucky he's dead." 

"You think he would've come after Blair?" 

"I think he already planned to." 

"You think he would've harmed him?" 

Crenshaw took a deep breath as he ran his hand back over his thick curls. "Haven't you heard, detective? I believe he already did. Now, if you'll excuse me, if you've got any other questions, call me tomorrow. I've got a memorial service to get through." 

Standing stock still, Jim's body chilled at the casual remark about his lover's painful past with Quint. Watching the younger man walk away, he clenched his jaw, reminding himself that Dewey Crenshaw suffered the survivor's brand and wore a defensive mask the same as Blair did. He shuddered with revulsion for just a moment and then turned to go hunting for his partner before his chronic urge to murder Stoddard and Quint all over again made him even colder. 

* * *

Jim scanned the crowd, the loud organ music in the background making it difficult not to shut down his hearing completely. Walking around, he noted the scattered conversations while he continued to look out for Blair. 

"Jim?" 

"Hey, Chief." He turned to find his partner dressed in a grey flannel suit he wore only to funerals. "Guess you went home and changed, huh?" 

"Yeah. I needed a shower, too." Blair pulled at his sleeve to cover the new gauze on his wrist. 

"Thought you were going to go without the bandage." 

"I was, but it started to get sore. I guess it's not ready yet." 

"It's not when you pick at it." 

Blair met his eyes and shrugged. "I know. I can't seem to help it." Jim put his hand on his shoulder when Blair gasped. "Shit. I don't believe it." 

"What?" 

Blair took off and headed in the direction of a thin, light-haired man dressed in a black raw silk suit. "Sidney!" 

"Oh, my lord. Blair Sandburg, is that you, hon?" Standing like a young kid, Blair stood and nodded with a big grin. The older man didn't think twice before grabbing him up in a huge hug. "I didn't know if you'd be here." 

Pulling away, Blair straightened himself up. "I live in Cascade full time now. Are you still in Mexico City?" 

"Would you believe it? An old gypsy like me, settled down and married?" He held out the gold ring proudly and smiled. 

"So, where's Paco?" 

"He couldn't come, dear." 

"I wanted to meet him." 

"Come to Mexico and you will. He's such a homebody." Sidney turned and eyed the approaching Jim for the first time and started. "Oh, my god." 

"What?" Blair touched his arm, alarmed. 

"And, who is this?" 

"This is my partner, Jim Ellison." 

"Partner?" 

Blair held up his own commitment ring and grinned. "You're not the only one who can get married." 

"Oh, my dear. I'm so happy for you." Sidney met Jim's eyes and shook his hand. 

Jim noted the nervousness in the face and asked, "Are you all right, Mr. Gold?" 

"Just call me Sidney. Seeing you just threw me for a second." 

"Why's that?" 

"You just look so much like someone I used to know." 

Confused, Blair asked, "Who?" 

Sidney met Blair's eyes, suddenly anxious. "It doesn't really matter, hon. Listen, maybe we can talk after the service?" 

"I'd like that, Sidney. You could come back to our place." 

"Sure, baby. Look, I need to see some other people while I'm here, but as soon as all the big shots get finished bullshitting in tandem, I hear they're serving a darling wine and cheese reception. You know how I love freebies. Let's meet there and then we can really talk, okay?" 

"Okay." 

As Sidney traipsed off, Jim took a deep breath and then scratched his head in wonder. "So, that's Sidney." 

"None other." 

* * *

"Well, that was seriously depressing." Sidney sipped the wine and nibbled the cheese, his eyes and his hands never settled. 

"Yeah, it was." Drinking his third glass of wine, Blair snatched up a fourth as a tray went by. 

"Chief, maybe you should slow down a little. You haven't eaten all day and you're taking antibiotics." 

Blair leaned in closer to whisper to Sidney. "Isn't he cute? Always fussing." 

Patting his sleeve, Sidney tutted. "Now, now, dear, he's right. You do look a bit puny. How did you hurt your wrist?" 

"A long story." Blair downed the fourth glass like water and then touched his forehead. "Man, who tilted the room?" 

"Shit." Jim took his arm and looked around for the nearest exit. "Let's get you home." He glanced at Sidney and shrugged. "He's been under a lot of strain lately." 

"Don't talk about me like I'm not fucking here, Jim." Blair pulled his arm away only to stumble back into Sidney. 

"Steady there, baby. Let Big Jim take you home and we can talk in the morning." 

"No." Blair grabbed his hand, his words slurred, but his voice desperate. "Tonight, man. I need to talk about this tonight." 

"All right, calm down, hon. Why don't we get some food inside that sweet belly of yours first. What do you think, Jim? Does he still like Chinese?" 

"Loves it." 

"Would you two stop treating me like I'm a kid?" 

Sidney took one arm and Jim the other, both men smiling. "Sorry, Chief. It's a tag team special. The deal is, you eat, or we force feed you." 

"Fuck off." 

"Oh, dear, wine brings out his potty mouth, doesn't it?" 

"It usually puts him to sleep." 

"My Paco's the same way. One drink too many and I'm left wanting." 

Blair slipped down a little further between them while he muttered, "Wanton's more like." 

"Let's get the boy home, Jim, before he tells all my secrets." 

* * *

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry." 

"It's okay, Chief." Jim settled on the sofa next to Blair and put his arm around him. 

"But I acted like an ass." 

"Don't mind me, hon. I majored in asses." Sidney waved a dismissive hand and sat down in the chair across from them. "Are you feeling any better now?" 

"I'm fine. Really. I don't usually drink like that." 

"It's been a tough day all around." Squeezing his shoulders gently, he kissed his temple. "I think we can cut you some slack considering the circumstances." 

"Thanks, man." Blair rubbed Jim's chest through his sweater and smiled with affection before he turned his attention back to Sidney. "I'm glad you decided to come back, but I have to ask why you bothered? I read the journal." 

Sidney nodded, his expression no longer happy. "I thought you might have. I'm sorry you had to find out about it that way." 

"But why make him go away like that with no warning?" 

Putting his wine down on the table, Sidney paused several moments before he spoke, his voice no longer exaggerated, but serious. "You don't know how hard it was for me to do that, hon. I'd been with him ever since his first expedition, but I just couldn't stand by and do nothing. He kept getting more and more outrageous. And, be honest, baby, would you have left any other way?" 

"I don't know. I never got the chance to find out." 

"Are you angry?" 

Blair took Jim's hand and rubbed it gently as he spoke, the light touches charging up the older man's arm. "Not anymore. I was just sort of shocked because I didn't figure it out. Hell, I let Eli and Thomas do some terrible things, and if you hadn't stepped in, well, I don't really want to think about it. I guess I was pretty stupid." 

"Don't do that, Chief. You keep putting yourself down over this, and there's no reason to do that. You were just young and they took advantage of that." 

"He's right, Blair. You were a brilliant young thing about books, but when it came to the glorious mindfuck, you were no match for the Great Eli Stoddard. None of us were really." 

"You were." 

"Please." He waved a hand and picked up his wine. "If I hadn't had Paco to go to, I'm not even sure I would've been strong enough to get away. No, Eli was hard to say no to." 

"Man, tell me about it." 

Lifting the glass, Sidney smiled. "No sad faces now. We're done with all that. It's time to move on." 

As the older man sipped the wine, Jim shifted and pulled Blair into an embrace, holding him there while he spoke. "We're trying." 

"I can see that. You make a lovely couple. I must admit, though, I never thought Blair would end up with an officer of the law for a partner." 

"Why's that?" 

"Just stories he told me about his mom." 

"There you go again, you two. I'm still here, remember?" Blair nuzzled into Jim's chest, his breathing slower, his voice very sleepy. 

"Time for bed, Chief." 

"We've got company." 

"Oh, baby, don't worry about me. I'm going to be in town another day. Go to bed, and I'll get a cab to the hotel. We can talk more tomorrow." 

Sidney stood up and motioned for Jim to stay put. "I'll let myself out. Time to tuck the boy in." 

"He's no boy, Sidney." 

"Dear, he'll always be a beautiful boy to me." 

* * *

Jim moaned as hot kisses and tiny nibbles played tag with his nipples and belly. "Jesus, Blair." 

"Morning." 

The word vibrated his skin, the heated air sending flashes down to his groin, his cock awake and happy. Dark curls tangled around his fingers as he used both hands to guide his lover lower. Hungry lapping surged the tension all through his thighs while Blair stroked his erection and fondled his balls. 

Slick wetness engulfed him as the younger man settled between his raised thighs. Digging his heels in the mattress he arched upward, the unexpected sensation of a finger entering into him almost setting him off. Flicks of tongue turned to sucking, Blair's head pumping with the same rhythm as his talented hand. Air clamped down and refused to move as his brain shut off with the flare of coming. The contraction and rip of muscle caught him off guard, fingers pushed harder and deeper with each uncontrolled spasm. 

Jim's skull throbbed and his heart pounded with the glorious strain of perfect pleasure as he sank back. Blair kissed the tip of his withering cock and shifted to move beside him. "I'll be right back." 

Still dazed, Jim watched his naked lover get up and go downstairs as he lay still trying to catch up on his breathing. Water ran and after a few minutes, Blair crawled back in bed, the warm cloth ready to clean him. Lips captured his while the younger man wiped him off, the taste of mint not completely covering the salty Jim taste he still carried. As he pulled back and put the cloth on the edge of the waste basket, Jim embraced him. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He settled down into his arms and rested his head on Jim's shoulder. "I love you." 

"I know." Jim rolled on his side and caressed Blair's cheek as he met blue eyes. "I love you, too. Let me show you." 

"You don't have to, man. I just felt like doing it this morning." 

"And what if I just feel like doing _it_ this morning, too?" 

"I think you already did, man." Blair smiled and snuggled in closer. "I don't need to get off, Jim. I just love being here like this, making you happy." 

Unsure whether to push or stay still, Jim settled on middle ground. "You know I'm not completely sure how to take this. I won't do anything you don't want, but I'm not sure why you don't want me to do the same thing for you that you do for me. Is it that awful?" 

"Awful?" 

"Yeah, I mean, you give it to me, but I'm not supposed to return it." 

"It's not awful, Jim. Don't ever think that." 

"Then what should I think?" He teased his finger along Blair's jawline and then traced it down his neck before Blair stopped his hand from traveling further south. 

"You should think about just taking what I can give when I can give it." Blair turned away, but let Jim spoon in behind him, his arms wrapping his waist. "I don't know exactly why I feel this way. It's not you, Jim. I love making love to you." 

"And I love that, too. I just want to return the favor." 

"I know you do. And, believe me, I want to let you, it's just..." 

"Just what?" 

"I'm not ready yet." 

Jim rested his chin on Blair's shoulder and sighed, "Okay. At least one of us has a sex life." 

"I have a sex life." 

"You will when you let me give you the blowjobs and other good stuff I used to do." 

"I let you blow me the other night." 

"I know and I loved it. I love you, the taste and touch of you, every part of you." 

Taking a deep breath, Blair reached down and pulled the covers over them and scooted back even closer. He held his hand over Jim's as he spoke quietly. "You know, sometimes you scare me." 

Jim stiffened and raised his head. "Scare you?" 

"I mean, not scare scare, just scare a little." 

"That makes no sense, Chief." 

"I know. It's just that I've never been with anyone who cared so much about whether I got my fair share when it came to anything, much less sex." 

Settling back down, Jim nestled in closer, the heated contact between their bare bodies making him sleepy again. "No offense, babe, but you've been with a whole lot of losers and assholes. Until me, of course." He kept his voice light and teasing, but he meant every word. When Blair didn't answer, he whispered, "You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. And, you're right." 

"About?" 

"Until you, I never had a clue it could be this good." 

The soft tone of the words touched him, his arms squeezing gently. "And it's just going to get better and better, Chief. Stick with me and it's going to be the best ever." 

"It already is, man. It already is." 

* * *

Jim started the coffee when he cocked his head to the sound of the elevator and the footsteps to his door. The knock didn't surprise him as he opened it to find Sidney flushed and anxious. "What's wrong?" 

"Where's Blair?" 

"He's in he shower. Why? What's going on?" 

Sidney pushed past him and shook his head, his voice strained. "I take it you haven't read the paper this morning?" 

"No. What's in it?" 

He handed him the folded newspaper and then sat down at the table. "It's terrible." 

Looking at the headline and picture, Jim growled. "Heir Overwhelmed at Stoddard Memorial. Shit." Underneath the words it showed Jim and Sidney helping a drunken Blair out of the building. The article went on to make a point of highlighting Jim being a detective and Blair's partner, leading the reader to infer the true meaning of the word partner. 

"I mean, doesn't the press have anything better to do for fuck sakes?" 

"Apparently not. Damn it." Jim threw the paper down, his jaw clenching, not looking forward to Blair's reaction. "He doesn't need this now." 

"No, he doesn't, dear. And, neither do you." The softened tone caught his attention. "I got on line last night and read all about this whole terrible Reardon mess and everything that's happened since. You mentioned it last night, but you never told me the gory details. I'm sure this whole thing has been a complete nightmare. Eli's dying couldn't have happened at a worse time." 

Jim settled in the chair next to him, his face drawn and tired. "It's the worse thing I've ever been through. Losing my men in Peru, that hurt, but we were soldiers. You're trained to know you can die anytime. But this thing, it's tearing my heart out to see so many people hurt for no fucking reason. The boy who attacked Blair, he was so damaged it hurt to look at him. And, Blair, he's trying so hard, but all this Stoddard shit, it's killing him, and it's making me crazy because I can't fucking do anything." He slammed his fist into the table, jarring the laptop on the other end. 

"You're wrong, hon." A hand took his and stayed there, the grip surprisingly strong. "Sure, you can't fix it, but you can be there. And, from what I've seen, you're saving him from his worst enemy, and I'm not talking about fucking Eli Stoddard this time, either." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Himself, Jim. I'm sure you've noticed he tends to be a bit self-destructive at times." Sitting back, he released his hand, his face set with determination. "I wasn't going to tell you this, but I think you should know." 

"Know what?" 

"Remember when I first saw you, I said you reminded me of someone I used to know?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Have you ever seen a picture of Eli from that summer Blair was with him?" 

"Don't, Sidney." 

"Don't what? Tell the truth? You could be his brother. I swear to you, just for a brief second, I thought you were him from years ago walking across that room yesterday. Now, I'm not saying that's why Blair's with you now, hon, but it could've been part of the initial attraction." 

Suddenly angry and not quite sure why, Jim stood up and walked over to the counter. He needed to change the subject. "Tell me about Quint." 

"Thomas?" 

"He was murdered. I need to know about him and Stoddard." 

Sidney frowned, his voice tense. "Thomas was an evil man, and I blame him a lot for what happened to Eli." 

"Why?" 

"Eli was a decent man, or seemed to be, before that bastard came along. Something about them together gave me chills. I can't explain it, but it was like Thomas could make Eli do anything he wanted and excuse it. At first Eli showed remorse and suffered some, but then it was like it didn't even bother him anymore, like it was his right to do whatever he wanted to anybody even though he knew he abused his power. They started this thing where one would lure a man in, make him fall for Eli, which was way too easy, and then they pretty much did whatever they wanted." 

"You mean sexually?" 

"Yes, and other things." Sidney looked down and crossed his arms, his whole body tense. "Don't think Eli made his money with being an academic, Jim. He and Thomas smuggled artifacts and sold people." 

"People?" 

"Young men to other men and sometimes to women. They weren't usually as young as Blair, but yes, they sold people. And then they'd blackmail the so-called clients. Put it all together, and we're talking a lot of money never used for any academic purpose. Thomas was one who could launder it so it seemed legitimate. I'd imagine you'd be hard pressed to prove anything against either of them." 

"And you knew about this?" 

"I was one of the young men they sold." 

"Shit." 

"It was a long time ago, but I couldn't do anything, or didn't think I could until Blair came along. I was afraid for him. He wasn't like me or the others. He was too young. I had to do something." 

"Thank god." 

The shower cut off and he could hear Blair climbing out and toweling off. "I don't want you to mention any of this to him." 

"I won't. I'm not even sure why I needed to tell you, but it just makes me think maybe he still has some serious issues." 

"I could've told you that, Sidney. He's a mess right now. I wish you could've seen him before all this happened." 

"I do, too, hon, but it's going to get better." 

The door to the bathroom opened and Blair stepped out damp and bare-chested with no shoes, his jeans hanging down on his hips. Lost weight made his ribs more prominent and the fading bruises along his middle even more obvious. Drying his hair with a white towel, he stopped when he saw his friend. "Hey, Sidney. Why are you here so early?" 

"Just needed to stop and see you before I leave. I decided to take an earlier flight back." 

Blair grinned and teased. "Can't wait to get back to Paco, huh?" 

"I do miss the dear boy." He stepped closer to Blair and hugged him. "I'm going to miss you, too, hon." Pulling back, he touched his face gently. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself and your man, okay?" 

"Sure." 

"And when you get some time, I want you both to come down and see us. We've got a spare bedroom and you could spend days in the book store alone, plus we've got a vacation home near the ocean. You two could go out there on your own where it's nice and private." 

"I'd like that." 

Sidney kissed his cheek and then patted his shoulder. "Take care, hon. I love you. I hope you know that." 

"I do." 

"Good. Now, take care." He turned to Jim, shook his hand with both of his own. "And, you my dear man, take care of our Blair." 

"I plan to." 

As soon as Jim shut the door behind him, Blair stepped closer. "What was that all about?" 

He handed the paper to Blair and waited. 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, that's what I said." 

"Oh, man." Blair sat down and dropped his face to his hands. "Why can't they leave us alone?" 

Rubbing his shoulders, Jim sighed. "We're news, Chief. Don't worry. It'll get old soon. Some new disaster or celebrity will come along and they'll forget about us." 

"I just hate this." 

"I know. You want some coffee? 

"Blair lifted his head and shrugged. "I guess. Has Simon called about it yet?" 

"Not yet." 

"We're being outed, man. You know that." 

"Yeah." 

"Doesn't that bother you?" 

"Sure it does, but it bothers me more that they're going out of their way to build up this thing about you. I thought Silver was going to take care of that." 

"He is. I'll call him later." 

"You okay?" Jim poured the coffee and put the mugs on the table. 

"I guess so. I mean, it could've been worse." 

"How's that?" 

"They could've gotten me on camera giving you a blowjob." 

"Maybe we could take our own and make a fortune with the tabloids." 

Instead of smiling and accepting the tease, Blair grimly stood up. "Fuck. I need another shower." 

Jim leaned back and silently watched as the man he loved walked away to try one more time to desperately scrub away his own misery. 

* * *

"Any leads on the Quint case?" Simon stared down at the folder while he talked, his cigar burning in the ashtray. 

"Nothing concrete yet, no, but I'm working on some leads." 

"Care to let me in on what you've got?" 

"Right now I don't have a main suspect, but Quint had his hand in a lot of different pies. The thing is, from the way he was killed I'm thinking the death wasn't business, but personal. That narrows down some of the leads. Right now I'd say my number one suspect is a guy by the name of Dewey Crenshaw." 

"Why this Crenshaw?" Simon sat down, taking time to get his mug and reheat his drink. 

"Right now, it's just a feeling and the fact that up until a year ago, he lived with Quint." 

"You think it might have been a lover's quarrel?" 

"Not if they weren't still lovers, but it could be they were still together, but just didn't live in the same house. I get a strange vibe off this Crenshaw guy. Everyone has good things to say about him, but when I talked to him, he was really nervous. Like I said, it's still all theory. I need to get more background and see if anyone saw anything that night. Quint was killed with nine rounds from close range. Someone should've seen or heard something." 

"We canvassed the neighborhood, Jim. Nobody admits to hearing or seeing a thing." 

"Then I need to talk to them myself." 

"The killer could've used a silencer." 

"Maybe, but a silencer usually means premeditation. That scene didn't say that to me." Jim glanced down at his personal notes before he added, "I want to talk to a neighbor named Mabely first. Crenshaw said she called him about the murder. Brown said that she seemed nervous, but didn't give him anything he could use. I want to press her on Quint's relationship with Crenshaw and when she last saw them together." 

"Sounds good." Simon sipped his coffee first and then switched gears in conversation. "So, how's Blair taking the news story this morning?" 

"How do you think?" 

"That's why I'm asking." 

Jim sat on the edge of the table and massaged the bridge of his nose, the headache right between his eyes stabbing for his attention. "He's tired, the same as I am. I wish people would just stay out of our personal business." He looked up and met dark, concerned eyes. "Has anyone from the brass said anything?" 

"No, but it's Saturday and it's early yet." 

"And if they do?" 

"Then I'll do what I always do, tap dance. I'm getting pretty damn good at it, too." 

"Thanks." Jim moved to a chair, his body still tense. "Have you talked to Daryl lately?" 

"Just last night. He said something about wanting to talk about something important this weekend. Why? Do you know what it is?" 

"It's not for me to say, Simon." 

"Shit." 

"What?" 

"It's serious." 

Jim took a deep breath and shook his head. "Don't get upset. He's not sick or anything, but, you're right, it is serious." 

Simon's face grew solemn, his dark features even more intense than usual. "If you already know about it, I don't have to guess too hard. I've suspected for awhile now. I guess, I just didn't want to think about it." 

"About what?" 

"About Daryl being gay." 

"Is it going to be a problem?" 

"Not for me, but his mom and grandparents, well, that's a different story." He paused for a moment to reach over and get his cigar, taking time to take two long inhalations before he spoke again. "I wish he'd come to me first." 

"I know. I think he just felt more comfortable asking for advice because he knows about Blair and me." 

"I can understand that." He put the cigar down rubbed the back of his head. "Did he say if he had someone?" 

"You need to ask him about that, Simon." 

"You're right. I just hope it's not too rough on him. You don't know how Joan and her parents can be." 

"I can imagine." 

Simon looked up and frowned. "Yeah, I suppose you can. Have you talked to your father at all about what's been going on?" 

"No, and unless he gets harassed by the press and gets pissed off, I don't expect to." 

"What about your brother Steven?" 

"What about him?" 

"Has he called?" 

"No. He wasn't very comfortable around me and Blair when he came over to the loft that last time." 

"But you two weren't even a couple then." 

"I know. You have to understand, Simon, my father pretty well hammered it home that being a fag isn't the done thing for an Ellison." 

"I hate that word." 

"Me, too. I hate queer, too, but I hear it more and more often." 

Incensed, Simon leaned forward. "To your face?" 

"I have heightened senses, sir. I hear things. I try to not let it make a difference, but it's hard." 

Nodding, Simon settled back still annoyed. "That explains why you were so abrupt with Mercer at the scene, right?" 

"Right." 

"Damn, Jim, I don't know what to say." 

Waving a dismissive hand, Jim sat up straighter. "Say you're free next Friday night for your bachelor party." 

"Bachelor party?" 

"I'm your best man, remember? It's part of the job description." 

Suspicious, Simon eyed him more closely. "Promise me it's not going to be one of those pornographic escapades like Trimble got last year. The whole division almost got run in. With your connections in vice I'd hate to imagine what damage you could do." 

"Don't worry. It's just going to be a small group getting together for some stimulating entertainment." He changed his teasing tone and grew more serious. "You'll like it, Simon. If it'll make you feel better, Daryl's going to be there, too, so it has to be fit for teenage consumption." 

"All right, then." The captain paused a moment and then shook his head. "Man, I can't believe I'm actually doing this." 

"Doing what? Getting married again?" 

"I mean, after all the trouble Joan and I went through, it's kind of scary." 

"Don't worry, sir, Conner's not going to hurt you...at least, not too much." 

"Easy for you to say. Ever since her father's been in town, she's been, well, unavailable." 

"Unavailable?" 

Decidedly embarrassed, Simon looked away. "Yeah, you know. _Unavailable_." His voice lowered as he leaned in closer with his confidence. "You know, I hate to admit this, but I got spoiled being with Megan on a regular basis, sort of started taking it for granted." 

" _It_ , sir?" 

"You know what I mean, Jim. Then again, you being with someone like Sandburg, you might not know the meaning of the word." 

Flushed and suddenly pissed, Jim stood up. "What exactly does that mean, someone like Sandburg? What? You think because he's friendly, he's some slut or something? I can't believe you just said that." 

Taken aback, Simon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean that at all." 

"Then what did you mean?" 

"I don't know. I guess I always assumed he was just always, how should I put this, available when it came to you. I swear I didn't mean it in a bad way. He just gives off that kind of energy." 

"That's bullshit." 

"I'm really sorry, Jim. I didn't mean it as an insult. You know how I feel about the kid." 

"Fuck. Don't call him that. He's not a kid. He's my partner." 

Simon's voice softened, yet held the power and sincerity it always carried. "I know he's not a kid, Jim. He's a good man and I respect him as much as I do you. I really do. You know that. I truly didn't mean to offend you." 

"I know you didn't." He stepped to the door, hesitating and then turning back. "It's just we're having some problems right now." 

"And I hit a little too close to home?" 

"Yeah, a little. I'm sorry for going off like that. I know there's no way you could've known that right now nothing could be further from the truth when it comes to Blair. He's really hurting." 

"Is he seeing Doyle?" 

"Doyle's not a miracle worker." 

"Just give it time, Jim." 

"I'm trying. It's just all this shit in the papers and with Reardon, it's like we can't seem to get a break. There's a lot of things going on you don't know about." 

"My big mouth doesn't help." 

"That's what you get for bitching about your pitiful love life." 

"What?" 

"More than you need to know about mine." 

* * *

Continued in part four.

This story has been split into four parts for easier loading. 

## Mentor 3

by Grey

* * *

Mentor 3 - part four   
by Grey 

"Don't you have a life, man? What reputable doctor works on a Saturday?" 

Ricky Doyle yawned and poured more coffee. "Traumas don't seem to go by a calendar. You should see me around the holidays." 

"I'll bet. Family fun and all that, huh?" Blair sat on the couch, his hands busy, his right leg moving nonstop. 

"I do some domestic cases, but mostly depression." 

"Yeah, Christmas especially, I'll bet. It's a rough time for some people, all that fucking enforced socialization about being merry and shit." Doyle stayed quiet as he sipped his coffee and sat down, his eyes focused on Blair. "I usually try to stay busy. So does Jim. Up until this year he worked every holiday shift." 

"What'd you two do this year?" 

Blair's animation slowed and his voice softened. "It was nice. Quiet." He closed his eyes, his body more relaxed before it suddenly stiffened. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Sitting up straighter, he pushed back his hair and shook his head. 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah." 

"You want to tell me about yesterday?" 

Blair frowned and stood up, his arms around his middle as he walked to the window. The low winter light shadowed his eyes, the tense lines aging his face. "I guess you saw the papers." 

"Yes." 

"It wasn't like what they made it out to be. I wasn't overwhelmed with grief or anything like that. I drank too much, that's all. It was more like relief." 

"Relief?" 

"He's really dead." 

"Did you doubt it?" 

Pensive, Blair shook his head. "No, but it wasn't real until I saw the urn and heard all those speeches, which were full of shit, by the way. Eli would've hated it." 

"Why's that?" 

"Not nearly big enough for one thing." Turning, he leaned on the wall near the window, not looking at Doyle. "A friend of mine was there, Sidney. He's the one who made Eli leave without saying goodbye like he did. Of course, at the time I just thought he left because I fucked up. It still hurts to think about that day." 

"And were you angry at Sidney?" 

"No. Not now. I think I would've been then, but not now." 

"And did you find this out through those journals you mentioned?" 

"Yeah, I found out that and a lot of things I have no business knowing." 

Doyle put his mug down, his face curious. "Like what?" 

"Like the fodder for all kinds of personal unrest. Worse, I was reading this stuff and thinking Eli wrote this. It was ugly and cruel." 

"And how did that make you feel?" 

Blair met his eyes and shrugged. "I felt stupid all over again. I'd carried these feelings for him for so long and then I read all this and wondered who the hell was this guy? This couldn't be the man I loved. But it was." 

Picking up his pen for a moment, Doyle danced it on the paper without writing and spoke quietly. "Blair, almost every time we've talked, you've called yourself stupid. Why?" 

"Because that's how I feel." 

"But intellectually you know you're a very bright person, brighter than most. So, why do you suppose you _feel_ stupid?" 

Considering the question, Blair paced several times before he finally sat down. "Because even though I know I'm not stupid, I do really bonehead shit. I mean, granted, Jim keeps saying I should give myself a break because I was so young with Eli." 

"But you can't do that?" 

"I guess I could, but youth doesn't explain my fuck up with Paul Donovan. It doesn't explain why I screw up relationships over and over. Jim knows I've had other lovers, but, man, he's got no idea how bad some of my choices have been." 

"If he knew, what do you think he'd say?" 

"I don't know. He'd probably call me a dumbfuck and forgive me." 

"But you can't forgive yourself?" 

"It's hard." 

"I know. But you know you're going to have to try if you want to move on." 

"I guess." Blair took a deep breath and then scooted forward, his elbows on his thighs, his head down a little and his voice more hushed. "I've got a more serious problem than forgiveness right now." 

"What's that?" 

"I'm having problems with sex." 

"What kind of problems?" Doyle stayed behind the desk, but sat up straighter, both hands fisted together. 

"Jim and I, we've always had a great sex life." 

"And?" 

"And, now, it's like I'm afraid to let him touch me." 

"Trauma does that. It's only been a few weeks since Donovan attacked you. It's only natural that you might be fearful." 

"But it's not fair to Jim. You have to understand, he's a really sexual guy. He's got these hyperactive senses and he really likes sex. I mean, when we first got together, shit, we went at it all the time." 

"Did that bother you?" 

"Not at all. I loved it. In fact, it was great to see him so happy. The only time I had a problem with it was in the morning. Sometimes he'd start before I was really awake and it reminded me of things I'd rather not think about." 

"Eli touched you like that?" 

"Yeah, but I got used to it." 

"With Jim or with Eli?" 

"Both." 

Doyle stood up and came around the desk, sitting in the chair opposite Blair. "What happens when Jim tries to touch you now?" 

"I freeze. I keep getting these flashes, but not to Donovan, to Eli and Thomas. Don't get me wrong, Jim and I have had sex, but it's not the same and it's only been a few times." 

"Do you trust Jim?" 

"I do. It's just I can't seem to stay in the moment." 

"The moment?" 

"With Jim. It's like I said, I keep getting these images, like I'm not there, but some place else." 

"But you have managed to have sex?" 

"Some, but every time it happens, Jim gets really disappointed." 

"What do you mean, disappointed?" 

"He says it makes him uncomfortable to have me get him off if I don't let him return the favor." 

"And why does the idea of Jim returning the favor bother you so much?" 

"I don't know. It just does." Blair wiped his face with both hands, the sweat not from any heat in the office. 

Doyle leaned back and studied him before he spoke. "Okay, maybe you should think about that, maybe write about it." 

"Write about it, like in a journal?" 

"It might help you focus on your feelings." 

"I can try, but I have to tell you, I'm not exactly into journals right now. Too fucking dangerous." Sitting back, he shook his head. "I guess I could write and then just encrypt it." 

"If that helps you feel more secure, that'd be fine." The doctor paused, tilting his head as he changed the subject. "Last time you were here, you told me something very important. I was wondering if you'd thought anymore about that?" 

"About what?" 

"About what happened when you were nine." 

Blair tensed and sat up, his back straight, his eyes narrowed. "I try not to think about it." 

"Why?" 

"What do you mean why? Fuck. Why would I want to think about being molested?" The unfocused anger threw his words together, running them along as his body tightened. 

"I know it's painful to think about, but it is important." 

"Why?" 

"Remember when we were talking to Jim about how it is that people like Paul Donovan make such easy targets for people like Reardon?" 

An unexpected shudder took over as Blair wrapped his arms around his chest. "I'm not like Paul and as bad as Eli was, he wasn't Reardon." 

"I'm not saying that. But you said children who've been victimized tend to be the ones predators go for. They're vulnerable because they've either been neglected or sexually abused already. They haven't learned appropriate boundaries. They don't have the defenses or coping mechanisms other children have to protect themselves." 

Blair got to his feet, the anger pounding his blood, his voice strained. "My mom didn't neglect me." 

"But you were sexually abused and she didn't stop it." 

"Fuck you." Storming towards the door, Blair suddenly stopped and turned, his hands fisted. "You don't know shit, Doyle. I never told my mom about what happened with David. It wasn't her fault." 

"It wasn't your fault, either, Blair." His calm, steady voice poked and defused his rage. 

"Shit." Sagging down on the arm of the sofa, he rested his face in his hands before he could talk again. "I don't want to think about this." 

"I know you don't." 

"I don't want to think of myself as a victim." He looked up, his hands shaking along with his words. 

"Then don't think of it like that. You're a survivor, Blair. You're healing, but it's an ongoing process. You can't expect to be well overnight after all these years." 

"God, I feel so fucked." 

"Then it's time to figure out some ways to feel better." 

"How do I do that?" 

"With patience and a lot of hard work." 

"Sounds fun." 

"It's not, but it's worth it." 

* * *

"I figured you'd be closed on a Saturday." Jim kept his voice in a hush as he studied the pictures and displays around the library walls. 

"After Dr. Stoddard's death and the services yesterday, we decided to extend the hours. We're usually only open a few hours on the weekends or by special appointments only." 

"Is Dewey Crenshaw around?" 

"No, but I'm his assistant, Blake Thompson. Is there something specific you needed?" 

Jim stood under a portrait of Stoddard made some fifteen years ago and clenched his jaw several times, the likeness to himself unnerving. He turned away and focused his attention on the young man standing behind the desk at the back of the collection room. Thin with dark straight hair, he only stood about five foot six. Wire-rimmed glasses covered round brown eyes and slid down almost to the tip of his narrow nose. Thompson kept pushing them up only to have them fall forward again when he looked down to read. 

"I'm Detective Ellison of the Cascade PD. I'm investigating a homicide. Did you know a man by the name of Thomas Quint?" 

"Thomas? Sure. It's a terrible thing, him dying like that." The voice had the slightest tremor and the boy's skin paled. "Dewey was really upset about it." 

"So, Mr. Crenshaw told you about it?" 

"Well, I heard about it on the news first, but then yesterday morning and last night he was almost too upset to do his records." 

"Records?" 

Thompson pointed at the computer. "We keep a record of any articles or books used during the day. We also catalog any and all new materials that come into the collection." 

"And there's a lot of new things?" 

"It's usually several hours on even a slow day. You have to understand, Detective, this collection not only houses Dr. Stoddard's work but any academic article about his studies or Stoddard himself. Plus, we include any and all works that are related to him. There are first editions and rare volumes here you can't find any other place in the world. With Dr. Stoddard's death we'll also be getting a huge addition to the collection." 

"So I've heard." 

"But why did you want to talk to Dewey about Thomas Quint?" 

Before he answered, Jim sniffed the air and paused. The faint smell of blood and a fired gun tickled his nose. Without speaking, he stepped closer to a door in the corner and tried the knob, but found it locked. "Where does this door go?" 

"To Dewey's private office." 

"Do you have a key?" 

"No. Only Dewey has that." 

"Did Mr. Crenshaw say where he'd be the rest of the day?" 

Thompson stopped for a moment and scratched his head. "I'm not sure, but I got the impression he wanted to get a head start on the new part of the collection." 

"How would he do that? I thought the collection wasn't the school's yet." 

"It's not, but Dewey said he knew the guy who could let him have part of it, and I figured he'd ask him. Sandburg I think." 

"Shit." Jim reached in for his cellphone and used the speed dial to call Blair, but got no answer. He turned to Thompson. "I want this place closed now. I'm calling for a search warrant and putting an APB out on Crenshaw. If you've got any idea where he might be, tell me now." 

Flustered, the young man shook his head. "All I know is he said he wanted to be closer to Eli." 

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, he used to say that reading Dr. Stoddard's work made him feel closer to the man, and since he's not here to read, I figure he meant he wanted some of the new stuff." 

Fuck. "Okay here's what you do. Lock the door and have a guard on watch. If you hear from Crenshaw, you call me, but don't tell him I'm looking for him. Got that?" 

"Sure, but Detective, you can't think Dewey would hurt Thomas. That's crazy. Dewey wouldn't hurt a fly." 

"I hope you're right, Mr. Thompson, but until I'm sure, I need to find him." 

Jim hurried outside, dialing Blair's number again. After the tenth ring, he battened down his own fear and called his Captain. "Sir, I think we've got a serious problem." 

* * *

Sitting at the back corner table, Blair tried reading the paragraph over, but it didn't help. He put the book down and looked at the cold onion soup before pushing it away. Food just didn't appeal to him and the strong smell made him nauseous. 

"Blair?" 

Glancing up, he found Crenshaw staring down. "Hey, Dewey." 

"May I sit down for a minute?" 

"Sure, have a seat." Blair moved his backpack from the chair and the other man sat down. "I thought you'd be at the collection today." 

"I was for a little while." Crenshaw scooted closer and put his elbows on the table to speak more quietly. "I needed to talk to you." 

"About?" 

"I think you know." 

Annoyed, Blair pushed back from the table and shook his head. "If I knew, I wouldn't ask." He stopped for a moment and took in Crenshaw's appearance. Instead of the dress slacks and jackets he usually wore, he had on jeans and a flannel shirt. A silver hoop earring replaced the ruby. Exhaustion bruised his blue eyes and his face showed the strain of the last week. "I don't mean to be rude, man, but what do you want from me?" 

"Nothing that shouldn't be mine already." 

"We talked about that before. I told you I'm not taking over the archive. I told Wallace that." 

"And the rest of the collection?" 

"It's being inventoried and as soon as that's done, you can have the damn thing." In frustration, Blair rubbed his face with both hands. "Look, I know you're anxious to get it all, but I'm doing the best I can here, okay?" 

"Okay." Crenshaw relaxed and shrugged. "I don't mean to bug you about it. I know you're having a hard time, too." 

"A little, yeah." 

"I saw you come out of the medical building. Are you still sick from that attack I heard about?" 

Uneasy, Blair shifted in his seat, not comfortable talking about his appointments with Doyle. "I'm getting better." He held up his wrist and ran his fingers along the rough edge of the gauze bandage. 

"It just takes time to get over something like that, huh?" 

"Right." 

"Look, Blair, I don't want you to get mad, but I have to ask about the journals again." 

"Why? I told you they're gone." 

"But did you read them all?" 

Blair shook his head and braced himself on the table. "No. Only the first half." 

"So you read about me, then?" 

"Yeah." Embarrassed, Blair shrugged. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, I feel as bad as you probably did when you saw all those personal pictures you said Eli had of me." 

"I guess." Crenshaw met his eyes before he spoke, his misery dark mist. "But I don't think you burned them all." 

"I did. I burned them as I read them, and then when I was in the hospital, Jim burned the rest." 

"Jim Ellison?" 

"If you're worried about what's in them, don't be. Neither of us are going to say anything." 

Sudden fear tightened Crenshaw's face. "Ellison read them?" 

"Some, the ones I didn't read. But he feels the same way I do. They needed to be destroyed, man. Nobody Eli wrote about has to worry about any of that shit coming to light." 

"You're sure you burned them all?" 

"I'm sure." 

"You can't be. Eli kept some of the notebooks hidden in the house. How can you be sure you got every single one?" 

Unsettled, Blair worked to replay that day he collected the books. "They were all pretty much together, either in his study or his bedroom. I think we got them all. They were numbered and I don't remember any sequence being missing." 

"But are you sure? I mean, absolutely sure? What if your lawyer or some outsider found some you missed? We have to be sure. We need to go out there together and check." 

The idea of returning to that house chilled him, the images too strong even with the protective distance of time. "I really don't want to do that, man." 

"I don't either, but it wouldn't take but a few hours. I know his hiding places. We could go out there now and check. Come on, Blair. We _have_ to be sure." 

"I could just give you the key." 

"Yeah, you could, but you might know some places to look I don't. When you were out there right after he died, you probably weren't thinking all that straight. I swear, this is the last time you'd have to worry about it." 

Blair rubbed his temples, the stress and tension hammering in his head. "If we do this, do you promise to leave me alone about this?" 

"I promise, man. I don't want people to read any of that personal stuff any more than you do." 

"Okay, but I don't have my car." 

"Don't worry, Blair. I'll drive. I know the way with my eyes closed." 

"Shit, man, don't we all?" 

* * *

"He's not at home, at Doyle's, in his office, or any place else I can think of, Simon. And he won't answer his damn phone. Where the hell is he?" 

"Just settle down, Jim. We'll find him. We've got people out looking everywhere. We've also got an APB out on Crenshaw and his van." 

"Son of a bitch. I knew something was hinky when I talked to him. I should've pulled him in sooner." 

Simon put a hand on Jim's arm while he talked. "Listen, we don't know Crenshaw has Blair. Sandburg could just be walking around trying to clear his head." 

"It's twenty fucking degrees out, Simon. He's not out walking." Jim pulled away and smacked a fist into his palm. "I swear to god, if that bastard hurts him, he's a dead man." 

"Nothing's going to happen." The phone rang, the buzz a welcome distraction as Simon answered. "Banks...Yeah?...When?...We're on our way." He slammed down the phone and grabbed his coat. "Come on, Jim. Blair was spotted in Crenshaw's van about twenty minutes ago." 

"Twenty minutes?" 

"Yeah. They were headed north out of town." 

"Shit. Stoddard's place." 

"Exactly." 

Together they made it to the garage, but Simon grabbed Jim's arm. "Let me drive." 

"My truck's faster and better on the highways." 

"Okay, but I'm still driving." 

"But it's my truck." 

"I'm the captain. That's an order, detective." Simon held out his hand, not willing to take no for an answer. 

Too wild to argue, Jim gave his keys over and waited for Simon to unlock the doors. He climbed in, pulled on the seat belt, his whole body anxious and wired. "Hurry up, sir." 

The older man pulled out the blue light and started the engine in one quick fluid motion. "You've got it." 

* * *

Blair rubbed his hands together as he stood in the dark entrance. "It's freezing in here." 

"Don't worry. I just turned up the thermostat." Crenshaw closed the door and switched on the light. "Go sit down. I'll make us some tea." 

"I don't want any tea, man. I just want to get this over with." 

"I understand, Blair, but we can still have some tea while we're looking." 

"I didn't come all the way out here to get cozy, Crenshaw. Now, you said something about knowing some hiding places." 

Unfazed, the other man smiled and moved into the living room area and over to the fireplace. He kneeled down and started to set up the fire. "Yeah, I know a few." 

"What the hell are you doing? We don't have time for a fire." 

"Why are you so nervous, Blair? It's just a house? It's cold out. Let's just relax and have some tea and talk. We'll look around later." 

"Look, no offense, man, but this is getting weird. You said we'd just come out, look around, and go home." 

"I meant it. In fact, you can go ahead and look around in the second bedroom upstairs. Try the back of the closet. There's some loose paneling. Check there first and then the rest of the closets. I'll fix the tea in the meantime, okay?" 

Unsettled, but determined, Blair nodded. "All right." He went upstairs to his old bedroom, the dread of being there now chilling his gut. His old bed, the room, everything looked so much smaller than his memory. On his hands and knees, he checked the back of the closet and a small panel just like Crenshaw said, but nothing inside. He did the same in the bathroom, but stalled at Eli's bedroom door. After a deep breath, he went inside and avoided anything other than checking for any possible hiding places. Again, he came up empty. Heading downstairs, he stopped on the bottom step as he watched Crenshaw pour out two mugs of tea. 

"Find anything?" 

"Nothing." 

"There's still the library and there's also under the deck. He kept a storage box out there sometimes. I'm saving that for last because it's so fucking miserable." Crenshaw stepped closer and held up the mug. "Here. It'll warm you up." The words came out friendly, not the least bit threatening, but Blair hesitated anyway. "What's wrong? You think it's poisoned or something?" 

"No. It's not that." 

"What?" 

"It's nothing." Blair took the mug and tasted it, the spicy sweetness strangely familiar. "What is this?" 

"An herbal blend I make myself." Crenshaw moved back over closer to the fire and rubbed his hands. "I hate winter. I always envied Eli whenever he'd take off to some jungle somewhere. Cascade sucks, you know?" 

"I don't want to talk about Eli." 

"Why not? He's dead now. What can talking about him hurt?" 

Sipping the rest of the tea, Blair shrugged. "It makes me uncomfortable, that's all." He put the empty mug on the table and sat down, the warm air making him sleepy. Sinking back in the sofa, he watched the fire for awhile before Crenshaw broke the spell of contentment that weighed down his limbs. 

"You look tired." 

"I haven't been sleeping." 

"A lot of things happening at once, huh?" 

"Yeah." Blair took a deep breath and hugged himself, his body sluggish. 

"Then you should try to rest. We've got plenty of time." 

"No, we need to finish and get out of here. Jim's probably worried." 

"Probably." 

Blair's vision blurred more with every blink, his thinking sliding sideways as he tried to get up. "Shit. What's happening?" 

Crenshaw guided his body down on the sofa, lifting his legs up and then covering him with a blanket. "You just need to relax and listen. I've got a story to tell and you haven't been paying attention. Thomas wouldn't listen, either, and look what happened to his sorry ass." 

"Fuck, Dewey. What are you doing?" 

The other man kneeled beside the sofa and petted back his hair, the touch soft and gentle. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want that. I killed Thomas to protect you for Eli, so don't panic. You're safe now." 

"I don't understand." The words came out slurred, his tongue too thick and lazy to work. 

"Eli loved you. Don't ask me why, but he did. He left you everything and Thomas hated you for it. He would've hurt you." 

"So, you killed him?" 

Closing his eyes, Crenshaw stood up, his hand to his head. "He hurt me so many times, Blair. That night, god, that night he was crazy." Dewey stepped back and sagged down to sit on the hearthstone in front of the fireplace. "He wouldn't stop shouting and then he hit me and threatened to kill me when I told him I wouldn't do it. He would've, too, but I just couldn't do it." 

"Do what?" 

"Hurt you. You belong to Eli." 

Blair rolled on his side and concentrated on not falling off. The room tilted and whirled as he gripped the edge of the cushion. "I don't belong to anyone, Dewey, and neither do you." 

"Not anymore I don't. I shot him that night and then I fucked him. I fucked him worse than he ever did me. He deserved it. And when I finished, I shot him again. I blew his face off. I had to. He wouldn't stop staring at me. I wanted to shut those fucking brown eyes forever. Jesus, you know how those eyes are. I can't stand it." 

"God, Dewey." Blair trembled, his brain lagging behind as he tried to form words. "What are you going to do to me?" 

"Nothing. I told you you're safe here." 

"Then why drug me?" 

"I needed you to listen. To understand. Nobody else would. You know what it was like with Eli. I just needed to be close to him again, and I can do that now." 

Wetting his lips, his throat dry, Blair rasped out the words. "You mean by being in his house again?" 

"No." Dewey got on all fours and crawled forward, his face level with Blair's. "By being close to you." 

"Don't touch me." Blair squeezed his eyes shut, the rush of images stabbing his thoughts, scraping through and clutching his heart. 

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I promise." 

"Your promise doesn't mean shit, man. Let me go." 

"I'm not going to keep you long. Just for a little while." Smiling, Dewey caressed his cheek and combed his hair with his fingers, his eyes focused, but not really seeing. Pity filled him, the other man's broken loneliness a winding sheet around Blair's heart. 

In the distance came the sound of the door opening and Jim's voice. "This is the police. Step away, Crenshaw. I don't want to shoot." 

"Go away, Detective." 

"Chief, you still with me over there?" 

"Barely, man. Look, Jim, don't hurt him, okay?" 

"Depends on Crenshaw." Jim's voice tightened and lowered. "Move away. Now!" 

Blue eyes met Blair's as he patted his cheek. He stood up slowly, his hands raised, the smile never wavering. "I'd never hurt you, Blair. I killed to save you." 

"I know, man." 

Simon and Jim both rushed in, Simon capturing the unarmed Crenshaw and pushing him against the wall to put on the cuffs and read him his rights. Jim kneeled beside Blair, the cold clinging to his clothes, his face twisted with worry. "Blair?" 

"I'm all right, Jim, just a little stoned. He gave me something in the tea. Jim..." He took his lover's hand and kissed it. "He's sick, man. He needs help and a good lawyer." 

"You need a hospital." 

"I just need to sleep." 

And he did, Jim's arms a warm and welcoming cradle. 

* * *

Blair sat staring out into the night as Jim finished wiping off the counter. "How you doing, Chief?" 

"Do you think he's going to prison?" 

"That's up to the courts, but he's in the psych ward being evaluated. My guess is, he'll be hospitalized instead, but I can't guarantee that." 

Blair shifted and tucked his legs under him and stayed silent. Jim put up the kitchen towels and turned off the lights to go sit beside him. "Talk to me, Blair. You've been really quiet ever since we got home." 

"I've just been thinking." 

"About?" 

"About how Eli fucked up so many people. About how twisted this whole thing is." He paused as he pushed back his hair, his eyes avoiding Jim's. "I know he killed Thomas and drugged me, but I swear, I feel sorry for Dewey." 

"To tell the truth, I do, too." He leaned over and kissed Blair's cheek and then nuzzled there for a moment before he whispered, "But if he'd hurt you, I'd have killed him." 

"Jesus, Jim." Blair pushed him away and got up, his face flushed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, you saying shit like that?" 

"What?" 

"Killing people doesn't solve anything." 

"I didn't say it did." 

"But you said..." 

"I said if he'd hurt you. I'm sorry if that pisses you off, but it's how I feel. I'm not going to apologize for wanting to protect you, to make anyone who hurts you pay for it." 

"It doesn't piss me off." He bit his lower lip and turned away as he stood by the window. "I didn't mean to go off. It's just that when you say things like that, it scares me. There's so much violence in you sometimes." 

"I didn't invent violence." 

"I know that. I guess, what I'm saying is that you're not the one who makes me afraid." 

Jim stood up and stepped closer, his hands braced up against the wall, but not touching Blair. "You're losing me here. Who makes you afraid?" 

"Me." 

"You? You're the least violent person I've ever met." 

"Not in my head I'm not." 

"In your head doesn't count. Everybody thinks about violence and mayhem, especially when they've been through the kind of shit you've been through. Intellectually you abhor violence, but emotionally you want to beat the shit out of the people who hurt you." 

"Or worse." 

"Yeah, or worse, like kill the motherfucker. I know the feeling." 

Turning, Blair put his arms around Jim's middle, his head resting on the older man's shoulder. "I hate thinking like that." 

"You're human. You hurt. You want the people who did it to feel the same way." 

"Most of those people are dead now." 

"You didn't kill them, Blair." 

"Maybe not, but I'm glad they're gone and it makes me sick inside to feel that way." 

Hugging him tighter, Jim used even strokes up and down his back, noting the slow relaxing of the muscles. "It won't last forever." 

"Feels like it already has." Pulling away, Blair took Jim's hand and led him toward the stairs. 

"Where are we going?" 

"To bed." 

"To bed?" 

"I'm tired, and I don't want to sleep alone. Stay with me for awhile, okay?" 

"You don't even have to ask." 

* * *

"This is so cool, man." Blair danced foot to foot as he watched the band set up. "A jazz club. He's going to love it." 

"I thought he might." 

"But, Jim, a whole club to ourselves on a Friday night? How can we afford that?" 

Jim mussed the back of his head and grinned. "Don't worry about it, Junior." 

"Seriously, man. Our extra expenses have been awesome this month." 

Jim motioned his head to the office door. "All the guys chipped in and Tony owes me a big one form awhile back, so he cut me a break on the price." 

"Bigger than you deserve, too, man." A thin black man came out of the back room, his voice with a rich, raspy edge to it. 

"Hey, Tony. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, this is Tony, the Sax man, Johnson." 

Blair extended a hand and did a quick shake. "Hey. I've heard your CDs, man. Smooth stuff. Jim plays that one you did, NIGHT ROAMER, all the time." 

"Yeah, Ellison's got a good ear." 

Jim laughed out loud at the irony and nodded. "When the music's good, it's good, Tony. Now, tell me you've got the place ready for Friday. This is a big night for a good friend of mine." 

"I know, man, you told me. Your captain's getting a new ball and chain. Sounds more like we need to be playing the blues instead of the list you sent us to play." 

"Don't let his lady hear you say that. She'll take you out back and make you eat a pink dingo or something." 

"Pink dingo? What kind of shit are you talking, Ellison?" 

"She's from Australia, Tony, and she's as tough as they come." Jim turned to Blair quickly and whispered, "Don't you dare tell Conner I said that, Chief." 

Blair crossed his arms, his face suddenly playful. "What do I get for keeping the secret?" 

"I don't know. Dinner?" 

"That's a start, but we'll talk about the rest later." The lush tease of the words went straight to his groin as Jim took in the nearness of his lover's body. 

Before he could say anything, Tony slapped him on the back. "Hey, I'll leave you two alone. By the way, Ellison, this little dance makes us even, right?" 

"Right. We're square." 

"Good, because as much as I like you, Friday nights only come fifty-two times a year and I need every one I can get, if you know what I'm saying." 

"I thought business was pretty good." 

"No business is good enough to give up a Friday night without a good reason." 

As he walked away, Blair edged closer. "This is going to be great, Jim. What a cool idea." 

"And I've got another one. Where do you want to go for dinner? Italian, Chinese, what?" 

Blair's eyes twinkled in the dim light as his hand rubbed its way down the front of Jim's sweater, stopping just above the waist. "Actually, I know it's not fancy, but I was thinking Mr. Tube Steak might be nice." 

"I hope you're not teasing me here, Chief." 

Shaking and tilting his head, he licked his lips and leaned in to whisper. "Do I smell like I'm teasing?" 

"God, I should've parked closer." 

* * *

Blair fisted the red rubber ball over and over, his mind obviously elsewhere. "Hey, Chief. You keep that up, you're going to be ready to put a nice hurt on something else I want you to squeeze." 

"You're such a slut, man." 

"But I'm your slut." 

Smiling, Blair ignored the teasing banter, put the physical therapy ball on the table, and picked up the book beside it. "You know, I can't believe you actually highlighted all this." 

"Why? I put the parts for me in green and yours in yellow. What's so hard to believe about that?" 

"I don't know. It sort of reminds me about that red and blue Tupperware deal." 

"Shit, Chief, I'm never going to live that down." 

"Not if I can help it." Sobering, Blair frowned. "You read the whole thing, huh?" 

"Yeah. That night you knocked yourself out with Xanax. I didn't have much else to do besides worry, so I thought I'd do my homework." 

"Homework? Yeah, I guess it is." He stared down at the title and read it out loud, his voice unsettled. "THE SEXUAL HEALING JOURNEY: A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse." 

Jim didn't miss the slight shudder as his lover put it back down. "It's a pretty good book. Doyle told me to read it to give me a better idea of what we're dealing with." 

"What _we're_ dealing with?" 

"Yeah, we, Chief. We're in this thing together." 

"This thing sucks." He stood up, restless, pacing and then sitting back down. "I just want to forget about it." 

"Not a good plan." 

"But I've been going to Doyle all week and I don't feel any better." 

Jim came to sit beside Blair, his arm on the back of the sofa. "You're sleeping through the night and you're eating again. You may not feel better yet, but you're doing better than you were." 

Slumping down against Jim, the younger man surrendered. "Yeah, I know. It's just I go to these daily sessions and it seems like all I ever do is talk in circles and complain. Then I come out and I'm so wired, but tired at the same time. You know what I mean?" 

"Yeah, I do." Jim snuggled in closer. "Don't forget, I've had my own rounds with Dr. Doyle. He makes it seem like everything's my idea, but when I think back on it, he's made me say things I hadn't planned to admit. I'll bet he was a hell of a good cop." 

"No doubt about it. He's got some good ideas, too, but..." 

"But what?" 

"I'm not really comfortable with some of them." 

"Like what?" Jim pulled back enough to meet his lover's eyes. 

"Well, he wants me to keep a journal, which is the J word right now." 

"He asked me the same thing, but I chickened out. I took the reading assignment instead. So, have you started with the journal?" 

"I'm an anthropologist. I've always kept journals, Jim, but this is different. He wants me to focus on our sex life." 

"Our sex life?" Jim scooted back into the corner of the sofa, one leg up, the other foot on the floor. "Why?" 

"Well, he wanted me to write on what I was worried about the most." 

"And that's the sex thing?" 

"Yeah." Jim snorted and rubbed his chin as he grinned. "What's so funny, man? This is serious." 

Taking his hand, Jim turned it over and kissed the palm before his words came out in a low hush. "I have to admit, I was worried, too, but I've been doing a lot of thinking and after reading that book, I understand a little better what's going on in that head of yours. If it takes awhile to get back to where we were, that's okay. I know you love me and that's all that matters." 

Blair touched his face gently, his eyes misted. "I do love you." 

"I know." 

"I want us to be like before." 

"Not good enough, babe." 

"What?" 

Embracing him, drawing him close, Jim whispered, "I want it to be even better. No more Mr. Sleepy Jim just getting whatever he wants. I'm awake now, and there's no going back." 

"It was never like that." 

"Sure it was. And, I have to admit, it kind of spoiled me, made me lazy about being more alert to what you're feeling. That's not going to happen again." 

Lips met his and Jim tasted the lush, hungry tongue invading his mouth, the delicious wet heat wrapping his mind in fog. Hands roamed down his front as a Blair pushed him back, his body pressing him into a rich sensual steam. His cock ached in anticipation, his balls throbbing and begging for a familiar touch. As he cradled the back of Blair's head while he probed with his own tongue, the phone rang. "Damn it." 

"Don't answer it, man." 

Blair proceeded to ravage his face, the licks going up the side of his neck and jaw, his ear bitten all around the raw edge. The answering machine clicked on and he heard, "Jimmy, this is your father. I need to talk to you." 

"Shit." 

Stopping abruptly, Blair pushed away. "You have to answer it." 

"I don't want to talk to him, especially right now." 

"I'm serious, man. Answer it." 

"Fuck." Sitting back up, Jim ran a hand over the top of his head to push down the wild spikes and then picked up the phone. "Ellison." 

"Jimmy? Is that you?" 

"Yeah, Dad. What's wrong?" 

"You're out of breath. Are you okay?" 

"I was busy. Now, what do you need?" 

"I've been reading the papers and watching the news. I wanted to see if you were okay." 

"I'm fine. Blair's doing better, too. Thanks for asking." A rush of anger spurred the words, his tone short and biting. 

"Is he there now?" 

"He lives with me, Dad. He's my _partner_ in every sense of the word." 

A slight pause came before the words, the hesitation weighted with meaning. "Oh. I didn't know." 

"You never asked." 

"But you were married." 

"So were you. So what?" 

"I didn't call to fight, Jimmy. I'm glad he's okay. I just thought I could see you. I'd like to get together. Maybe lunch tomorrow?" 

"I don't know. I'm working." 

"Then dinner. It doesn't matter. We need to talk." 

"Let me get back with you." 

"Okay. Call me anytime. I'm at home." 

Without saying goodbye, Jim hung up the phone, his mind spinning. "I don't believe this." 

"What?" 

"My father wants to do lunch." 

"Cool." 

Jim scowled and Blair's smile vanished. "Not cool. I wonder what he's up to." 

"Why does he have to be up to something? He's your father. I think it's good he wants to have lunch. It's a start." 

"Yeah, but a start of what?" 

"A family, maybe?" 

Jim moved back to the sofa and drew Blair into his arms. "You're my family, Chief." 

"Cool." 

And this time Jim let him smile all he wanted as he picked up where he left off. 

* * *

"Jim, are you okay? You seem nervous." Simon put down his mug and leaned back in his chair. 

"It's nothing, sir. You said you wanted to see me." 

"I've got great news fresh from the DA. Reardon's made a deal. That means Blair won't have to testify." 

Sinking down in the nearest chair, Jim let out a long breath. "Thank God." 

"I know you've been on edge about it." 

"You could say that. What about Crenshaw?" 

"Too early to tell. The guy's obviously not competent, but I'm just a cop. What the hell do I know? Still, it was nice of you to hook him up with Caldwell for a lawyer considering the circumstances." 

Jim shook his head and folded his arms. "Actually, I only called Caldwell. He's the one who decided to take the case. I'm thinking he had a little bad history with Stoddard himself. Might be some sympathy there." 

"Yeah, well, whatever the reason, Crenshaw might get the help he needs. I don't think someone like him would last too long in prison, do you?" 

Flashing on his own jailhouse ghosts, Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "I doubt it." 

"Are you sure you're okay, Jim?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Tell it to someone who doesn't know you." 

Smirking, Jim shrugged. "Okay. It's my dad. He called last night. We're having lunch in about half an hour." 

"Your father? Damn." 

"That's what I said." Jim paused and met his friend's eyes. "I told him about Blair and me being together." 

"Really? What did he say?" 

"Not much. I'll get a better idea of the lay of the land after I see him." 

"Good. I hope it works out." Simon studied him a bit before he added, "You do want it to work out, right?" 

"I don't know. To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel." Redirecting the conversation, Jim asked, "So, are you ready for the party tonight and the big day tomorrow?" 

Simon smiled, his face suddenly more excited. "Hard to believe, but yeah, I think so." 

"It's going to be a great gig, sir." 

"Well, that's the plan. By the way, Daryl's bringing his friend Morgan to the party tonight. Is that okay?" 

"Sure, no problem. What's he like?" 

Shaking his head, Simon leaned back. "Don't get me wrong, Jim. I don't care about the gay thing." 

"Okay, what's wrong?" 

"I just don't want my son to get hurt and I see hurt growing all over this one." 

Jim edged closer. "Why's that?" 

"Too many obstacles. Being gay's not the only strike against them. Morgan's thirty years old, white, and divorced with two kids. They live with their mom, but he has them every other weekend." 

"Shit. Daryl's barely eighteen. What's this Morgan do for a living?" 

"He's a freelance photographer. He makes pretty good money. At least he has that going for him and you know how Daryl loves that camera." 

"I'm sorry, Simon, but I think you're right. This is going to be a disaster." 

Wiping his face and then palming his forehead, Simon moaned the words. "God, I hope not. I'm his father. I hate seeing him line up to be hurt like this." 

"What has his mom and grandparents said?" 

Simon's face grew even more grim. "We'll find out about his grandparents at the wedding. I imagine Joan will hear soon after that." 

"You don't think you should warn them ahead of time?" 

"Why bother? It's going to be a drop kick to the teeth any way we go. Might as well let it happen where they can't kill him without witnesses." 

"Not to mention the place will be packed with cops." 

"Believe me, I thought of that, too." 

"Guess that's why you're the captain, sir." 

"Damn straight." 

"Not exactly." 

The groan rumbled and followed Jim out to the bullpen where he picked up his coat and headed out to meet his own personal disaster. 

* * *

He couldn't sit still, his fidgeting even worse than usual. "Blair, you want some coffee? I've got decaf." 

"Like it would do any good, man." Blair met Doyle's concerned eyes and then looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little wired today." 

"About?" 

"Jim's seeing his dad today." 

Doyle put down his pen and sat forward. "I thought Jim and his father were estranged." 

"Bingo. That's why I'm nervous. His dad called out of the blue. Jim didn't sleep worth shit all night. He's got a lot of father issues." 

Doyle nodded in agreement. "And, what about you? Do you have any father issues?" 

"Me? It's hard to have an issue about something you've never had." 

"I'd think that would be an issue in and of itself." 

Pointing an accusing finger, Blair stood up and moved around the small space. "You're tricky sometimes." 

"Tricky in what way?" 

"I know what you're getting at. You think because I never had a father, that I was looking for a father figure with David and Eli." 

"Is that what you think?" Doyle leaned back, keeping his eyes fixed on Blair, never wavering. 

"They were both bastards." Anger dripped from his words as he finally stayed put, his back to the furthest corner of the room. He hugged his chest, the knots in his stomach playing like whips against the back of his spine. "Fathers don't fuck with their sons." 

"Not good ones, anyway. But, Blair, you were just a child with David. You wanted affection, but had no model to help set appropriate boundaries. This David person took advantage of that vulnerability. The pattern repeated itself with Stoddard. He was three times your age when you were with him." 

Troubled, his face twisted as if solving a puzzle, Blair stayed quiet for several long minutes. Finally he spoke, his words unsteady. "So, you're saying I wanted a dad so badly, I'd have let them do almost anything to get one?" 

"I don't know. What do you think?" 

Face flushed, he sighed and looked out the window. "I think it's a damn good theory." He sagged a little and then stood straighter before he walked slowly back to the sofa. "I kind of set myself up, huh?" 

"You didn't set yourself up, Blair. You wanted a dad to love you. There's nothing wrong with that." 

"But I had Naomi. She loves me." 

"I'm sure she does, but sometimes you wanted more." 

"Yeah, I did." 

"You want to talk about that?" 

"Not really." 

"Try." 

Air faltered for several moments before he finally spoke, his tongue stubborn and resistant. "I love my mom." 

"I never doubted that." 

"It's just she was gone so much. I stayed with all kinds of relatives and I tried really hard to think about the good things. I got new experiences and saw the way different people lived." 

"But?" 

"But I never really felt part of anything. I was always on the outside. When my mom's boyfriends showed up, it didn't take long to figure out that most of them just tolerated me. David was different. I thought he liked me for me." He stopped and situated himself on the sofa, his legs tucked under, his hands on his thighs. His voice lowered and got very quiet, much softer than the power of the words. "Sure, I sucked him off and did hand jobs, but I didn't mind because he made me feel so good about it. He held me and played with me and, shit, I liked being with him. He never hurt me." 

Doyle came around the desk and sat closer, his own voice level more hushed. "By not hurt, do you mean he never penetrated you?" 

"Never. I think the worse thing that ever happened was when he just left. No goodbye, nothing. I cried and my mom kept asking me why. All I could say was I missed David. Looking back on it now, I know it was wrong, but I really wanted him to stay." 

"So, you repressed it so you didn't have to think about feeling abandoned?" 

"I guess because until only a little while ago, I had no idea it'd happened. Spooked the shit out of me." 

"And Jim?" 

"It's hard to describe. He was shocked, sure, but it's almost like he expected it. He did tell me he thought it was pretty fucked up thinking." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think he's right on the money." 

"Any more thoughts about that before we move on?" 

"Nope. I've pretty much accepted the fact that I was a screwed up kid. Now, I just have to try not to keep doing the same dumb shit over and over." 

Crossing his legs, and leaning back, Doyle asked, "Have you done any work in your journal since yesterday?" 

"Didn't have to." 

"Why not?" 

For the first time during the session, Blair smiled shyly. "Jim and I, we sort of had a really good time last night." 

"Before or after his father called?" 

"Both." 

"Ah." 

"Yeah, ah and I'm talking ah big time. I'm thinking things are getting better." 

"I'm glad. But I think you still need to be prepared for occasional setbacks." 

"Party pooper." 

"Occupational hazard." 

Blair nodded and shrugged. "Look, I know we've got a lot of things to work through, but we're talking more than we've ever talked. I'm not quitting and Jim's going to continue his own sessions and he's willing to do couple therapy. I mean, hell, we could keep you in business with just us." Doyle smiled, but stayed quiet, his eyes still alert and trained on Blair. "The thing is, I really think we're going to be okay." 

"You want a professional opinion?" 

"Sure." 

"I think you're both going to be more than okay." 

"Cool." 

"Very." 

* * *

"I'm glad you could make it, Jimmy." 

Folding the napkin in his lap, Jim took the offered menu and waited for the waitress to leave. "Why are we here, Dad?" 

"Like I said, I saw all those news reports and got worried." 

"And I told you I was fine." 

"That's good then." William Ellison put down his menu and sipped his water nervously. 

"What is it?" 

"Did you know Steven's moving to New York? He's got a good business deal." 

"That's great. I wish him luck." 

"Do you?" 

"Of course, I do." 

"He says you never call." 

"The phone works both ways." Sitting back in his chair, Jim crossed his arm and set his jaw. "You said you saw the news reports. They started weeks ago. Why call now?" 

"I wasn't sure what you'd say." His father's voice strained the words, his wrinkled face solemn. 

"I probably would've said thanks for calling." 

"You've always been a hard person to read, Jimmy. You keep everything to yourself, like this thing with your roommate." 

"He's not my roommate, Dad, he's my partner, in everything. I love him." 

His father met his eyes and shook his head. "I can't say I understand that, because I don't." 

"I'm not asking you to." 

"I don't understand it, but I can accept it. If there's one thing I know about you, it's that you take everything to heart. Nothing's ever light or simple with you. Not like your brother. If you say you love this person, then that's all that matters." 

Bracing himself forward on the table, Jim asked, "You really mean that?" 

"It took me awhile to work up to the idea, but yeah, I do." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, Steven first suggested the two of you were together awhile back. I didn't really want to believe it." 

"And how did Steven feel about that?" 

"Steven's your brother. He'll get used to it." 

"Or more likely he won't." The waitress stood at his side and they both gave their orders quickly. As soon as she left, he drank some water, his nerves still raw and anxious. 

"Jimmy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I read that your partner inherited a lot of money." 

"Shit." 

"What?" 

"I knew there was something behind this little cozy offer to get together again." 

"Wait a minute. I just wanted to say that if he needed an advisor, I could help. He didn't strike me as the kind of person who knew a lot about money." 

"What the hell does that mean?" 

"Well is he?" 

"That's not the point. He's not keeping the money anyway. He's setting up funds for a couple of charities." 

"Do you think that's wise?" 

"My god, you're a piece of work." 

"That's not fair." 

"Fuck fair." Jim put his napkin on the table and stood up. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the plate. "That should cover my part." 

"Jimmy, don't be that way. I was only trying to help." 

"Sure. Tell Steven to have a good time in New York. Call me if you ever really want to talk about something other than finance." 

Heading toward the door, he glanced back to see his father's head down, his face discouraged. Once outside, he took a deep breath of cold air and blinked away the sting of his own disappointment. Buttoning up his coat, he then headed back to the station and counted the hours before he could see his real family. 

* * *

"I'm sorry about your dad, Jim. I was really hoping you two could work things out." 

"Yeah, me, too, Chief." Jim put his arm around his lover's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'm fine." 

"Yeah, sure." Blair motioned with his head toward the door. "Looks like Daryl and his date have arrived." 

"Lord. What a mess." 

"Why?" 

"Well, just look at them." 

"I am. Daryl looks happy. I don't know Morgan yet, but he looks pretty hot. Must have money, too. Check out those clothes and those shoes cost your last paycheck." 

Jim frowned as he turned and stared at his partner. "Pretty hot?" 

"Yeah. Bet he can focus a lens like nobody's business. Look at all that dark hair and that buff bod. Yum." 

"I'm going to have get a gag before the night's over, I can already see that. You've only had one beer and you're talking crazy." 

Daryl walked over, leaving his date talking to Rafe. "Hey, Jim, Blair. How you doing?" 

"I'm fine. Blair's having a nervous breakdown." 

The serious concern from their young friend brought on a round of laughter as Blair doubled over. "Don't worry, Daryl. I'm fine. Jim's just being an asshole." 

"Sure, man. Whatever. Have you two met Morgan?" 

Blair raised his hand. "I haven't. Bring him on over. I've got you two sitting next to your dad." 

"Yeah, in a minute. I wanted to see how you were first. I heard about that kidnapping thing with the guy from school. Man, are you like some huge shit magnet or what?" 

Chuckling again, Blair nudged against Jim's side. "Yep. Shit magnet. That's me." 

"God, settle down, Chief. You're scaring me here. You're way too happy." 

Blair lifted his second glass of beer and finished it off. "Come on, man. Loosen up. It's a party." 

"I don't want to carry your drunk ass home again, so take it easy, okay?" Jim kept the tone light, but the seriousness of the message came through in his eyes. 

Blair stopped smiling, his face flushed with quick anger. "You don't have to worry, man. You don't have to fucking carry my ass anywhere." Before he could stop him, the younger man slammed down the glass, grabbed up his coat, and stormed out the door. 

"Shit. Sandburg. Fuck. I'm sorry." 

"Damn, Jim, I think he's really pissed." 

"Tell your dad we'll be back as soon we can." 

"Sure." Daryl touched his arm as he turned, his voice an anxious whisper. "Jim, is he okay or not?" 

"Just tell Simon I'll be back." 

"Sure, man." 

Letting his senses guide him, he tracked his lover outside and found him heading south, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, the wind blowing his hair back from his face like dark fans. Running a little faster, he almost reached him until the younger man turned into a club doorway. The hard rock music blasted his hearing until he turned it down and could adjust his eyes to find Blair at the bar ordering a beer. 

"Chief, we've got free drinks at the other party." 

"Fuck off."Stepping closer, he leaned against the rail as the bartender took Blair's money and served the drink. "I'm sorry about what I said. It was uncalled for." 

"Yeah, it was." Blair drank down half the beer before he spoke again. "You've got no idea what that felt like, to have you act like I couldn't take care of myself and in front of Daryl for christsakes." 

"I know. I was wrong. I apologize." 

"And what about the joke about the nervous breakdown?" 

"What about it? It was a joke." 

"A stupid joke, man." 

"What's going on here, Chief? Do you want to pick a fight? Is that what you're trying to do?" 

"No. I don't want that." Blair finished the beer and then rubbed his face as if to clear his vision. "I just need you to back off a little. I just wanted to have fun tonight, not fuck up." 

"I fucked up, Chief, not you. I should've just kept my mouth shut. If you want to drink yourself blind to celebrate, that's your business. I just worry, that's all." 

Solemn, Blair met his eyes and then touched his arm to signal the need to leave. "Let's take a walk." 

Once outside, away from the blaring music, both men spoke in a normal tone. "I know I don't drink worth shit, Jim." 

"Then why drink at all? Nobody would care if you just had soda." 

"Because I just wanted to have a good time, to maybe forget about this godawful week, hell, this godawful month. I didn't expect to get a temperance lecture from a man who can put away a six pack and not even feel it." 

"I feel it. I've just got a better tolerance than you do. It's not that I mind you drinking a little. I just don't like it when you get wasted." 

"Wasted sucks." 

"Yeah, it does." 

Blair stopped a few feet from the club entrance and touched Jim's chest. "I'm sorry for being so melodramatic. It just hit a nerve." 

"It's okay. Let's just try to relax and show Simon a good time tonight." 

"Good time Sandburg, that's me." Blair did an exaggerated clown face and then headed inside, clapping his hands and doing the life of the party act on high gear. Jim trailed quietly behind, his worry for his partner sparked all over again. 

* * *

"Oh, man, that was awesome. You cops know how to do it up right." Blair wandered into the loft, his gait unsteady, his voice too loud. "Man, Simon's going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow." 

"He's not the only one, Chief." 

Blair stretched out his arms and let himself fall back on the sofa still wearing his coat. "You got a headache?" 

"Not me." 

"Not me, either. I feel fine. Couldn't be better." He closed his eyes and lay there, his breathing slow, but even, a big grin on his face. 

"Might want to think about moving upstairs before you get too comfortable. You're a little heavy to carry." 

"I'm fine. Leave me alone." 

"Sure." Jim slipped off his coat and frowned as he headed towards the bathroom. He rinsed his face and brushed his teeth before going back into the living room to find his lover curled on his side asleep. Standing quietly he watched the slow even breaths and the relaxed features, the earlier tension gone completely. Reaching down, he slipped off Blair's shoes and then covered him with the afghan. 

Jim kneeled beside him and pushed back his hair to kiss his cheek. "Sleep tight, Chief. We'll talk in the morning." 

* * *

"Oh, god." Groaning out loud, Blair squinted and saw Jim standing nearby with a cup of coffee and two aspirin. 

"Thought you might need these." 

"Marry me, man." 

"Already done. Now, sit up so you don't spill it." 

Throwing off the cover, Blair sat up and rubbed his eyes several times before he actually took the mug and pills. He swallowed the medicine and stood up. "I have to go." Still groggy, he looked down at himself, confused. "I'm still wearing my coat." 

"You were a little out of it." 

"Apparently. Shit. I stink." 

Jim agreed without saying it out loud and watched Blair make a disgusted face as he slipped off his jacket and headed to the bathroom. "Why don't you take a shower and I'll fix breakfast?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

"Just juice and toast then." 

"Whatever." 

Biting back his comments, Jim went to the kitchen and made bagels and toast. He got out the butter and cream cheese and sat down to wait, his mind still busy, his stomach tight. 

Blair came out freshly showered and shaved, wearing jeans and Jim's grey pullover sweater. He picked up his mug and refilled it before he joined him at the table. "What's wrong, man?" 

"You tell me." 

"What are you talking about? You look like someone whacked your best suspect or something." 

"You want to tell me what you were thinking last night when you continued to get plastered after we talked about how being wasted sucked?" 

Suddenly defensive, Blair put down his drink. "I wasn't wasted." 

"You could hardly walk and you passed out on the couch, Chief." 

"I didn't pass out." 

"What do you call it?" 

"Sleeping through the night." 

Jim worried his lower lip for a moment before he trusted himself to speak. "So, what you're saying is that the only way to sleep through the night is to knock yourself out?" 

Avoiding his eyes, Blair used both hands to drink his coffee before he answered. "I didn't say that. It was a party, Jim. I had a good time. Don't spoil it." 

"I'm not spoiling it. I kept my mouth shut and let you have your way last night. Now, it's time to listen to me about what it was like sitting there watching you the whole time." 

"Here it comes." 

"Here what comes?" 

"The whole speech about how I made a fool out of myself, right?" 

"Wrong. You put on a show, Chief. You danced and partied and acted like everything's fucking wonderful. But it was a show and we both know it. You were working way too hard at it to be a good time. One minute you wanted to rip my heart out and the next you're up on stage singing with the band." 

"You don't like my singing?" 

"That's not the fucking point, Sandburg, and you know it. You've got a gorgeous voice, but when you're sober you wouldn't sing in front of a group like that unless someone put a gun to your head. So, is that it? Do you feel like there's a gun to your head to pretend like nothing's wrong?" 

"Jesus, Jim." Blair stood up and walked away from the table, his voice choked, his face pale. 

Jim followed him to the window, his body as close to his lover's as he could be without actually touching. "Talk to me, Blair." 

"I just wanted it to be a good night, man. Normal. I didn't want people thinking about what happened. I needed to show them I'm okay." 

"They're our friends. You don't have to do that." 

"You don't know what it's like." 

"What?" 

"The concerned glances, the pity. They know about what happened. They _know_." 

"What does that mean, they _know_? Do you think they see you any differently than before?" 

"Yeah, I do. Don't you get it? Before I was different because I wasn't a cop, but they accepted me because I was your partner." 

"And you're damn good at the job." 

"Maybe, But now they see me as a victim. It puts a wall between us. I have to prove that I'm not one of the people they have to take care of everyday. I have to make them believe I'm still part of the team." 

"That's such bullshit. They don't think like that at all." 

"Bullshit to you, but it's real to me." 

"Shit." Jim cupped the side of his face and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you felt this way." 

Blair shrugged, holding Jim's hand as he brushed his cheek harder into Jim's palm. "If you want to know the truth, I didn't know, either." 

"What?" 

"I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't put it into words. It's like I'm on display or something every time I see someone I know." 

"I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"For not realizing. I wish I could make it easier." 

Reaching up, Blair kissed him lightly, then pulled away before heading for the stairs. "I know you do, man. Don't worry. I'll be okay." 

"Where are you going?" 

"I think I'm going to sleep a little more before the wedding this afternoon." 

"You don't have time." 

"Why not?" Blair stopped on the stairs, puzzled. 

"You've got an appointment in an hour." 

"I thought I'd skip it today." 

"You thought wrong." Jim walked over and poured himself more coffee as he braced for a fight. 

"You can't force me to go, man." 

"I know that, but seems to me we had an agreement. I make my sessions, you do the same." 

Coming back down the stairs, Blair crossed his arms and leaned against the beam. "But you only have to go twice a week." 

"We made a deal. I expect you to keep it." 

"But..." 

"No buts." 

"Stubborn bastard." 

"It's one of my best traits." 

"Dreamer." 

* * *

"So, you had a great time, I take it?" 

"Like I said, it was awesome. Did you know Joel could play bass? He's got a good voice, too. Oh, and did I tell you that he's singing at Simon's wedding?" 

"Yeah, you said." 

"Are you coming to the wedding?" 

"Sorry, weekends are some of my busiest times." 

"That's too bad, because the reception should be a blast. I'm just hoping Daryl's grandparents are cool about the whole Morgan thing. And did I mention..." 

"Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Did something happen at the party you don't want to talk about?" 

Blair took a deep breath and fidgeted, his right leg moving and his hands turning his gold ring round and round. "What makes you ask that?" 

Casually sipping his coffee, Doyle shrugged. "You've been talking nonstop for about fifteen minutes now about how great it was, like you're trying to convince me, and you haven't mentioned Jim once." 

"So?" 

"So, Jim's usually your number one subject. Did anything happen?" 

"Nothing big." 

"Maybe we should talk about it anyway." 

Blair frowned and avoided Doyle's watchful gaze as he continued to worry the ring on his finger. "Jim and I had a fight." 

"About?" 

"He was being an asshole." 

"About?" 

"About my drinking." 

"How often do you drink?" 

"I don't drink, not really." 

"You either drink or you don't, Blair. Which is it?" 

Serious, Blair shifted his position on the sofa and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his head down. "I do, but not very often. Maybe a beer or two at a Jags game." 

"So, why is Jim worried?" 

"Because he thinks I drink too much when I do drink." 

"Do you?" 

"Not always." 

"Did you last night?" 

"It was a party, not a funeral. Shit." He sat back and shook his head. "Fuck." 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Look, it's not like I drink on a regular basis. Jim just overreacted. He worries too much. I swear he's a better Jewish mother than my mom." 

"Didn't you say you drank too much at the memorial service the other day?" 

"I don't remember telling you about that." 

"But you did drink too much then, right?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"So, why do you think it's overreacting on his part to be concerned considering the circumstances?" 

"Well, it's just a couple of times. Nothing big." 

Doyle put down his coffee and frowned. "Let me ask you a question. How did it feel when you drank too much?" 

"How did it feel?" 

"Yeah, did you enjoy it?" 

"At the time, yeah. I could relax." 

"You can't relax without it?" 

Blair studied the distracting plaid pattern in the sofa, reluctant to speak. "It's hard." 

"What? Relaxing?" 

"Yeah. I don't want people to worry about me, so I try to pretend everything's cool." 

"But it's not?" 

"No. So, if I drink a few glasses of wine or take a few pills, it helps ease the panic a little." 

"Wait a minute. Back up a second." Doyle edged closer, his face more intense. "What pills?" 

"It's nothing. I took some Xanax the surgeon gave me after the attack. It was only once." 

"Let me guess, you took more than you should." 

"Not on purpose, but Jim was seriously pissed." 

His face solemn, Doyle's voice took on a tighter edge. "Look at me, Blair." 

"What?" 

"Are you taking anything right now? Any pills or liquor?" 

"No." Blair took in the grim tone and features and swallowed hard, hating the look that so closely mirrored Jim's. "I don't have a drug or alcohol problem, okay? I know that's what you're thinking." 

"You know as well as I do substance abuse is often a legacy of sexual abuse. The potential for trouble is always there for someone who's had your experiences." 

"I know." 

"So, be honest with me and with yourself. Do you have a problem?" 

"No. At least I don't think I do." 

"If you've even got the question, maybe you've got your answer." 

"Why do I suddenly have the feeling you're going to call me Grasshopper and tell me to snatch the pebble from your hand like the master on KUNG FU?" He smiled and tried to defuse the tension. 

"Don't ignore or downplay the situation, Blair. If you think you might have a problem, you probably do." 

"Damn, I guess this means no champagne at the wedding, huh?" 

Sitting back, his face suddenly inscrutable and wise, Doyle asked, "What do you think, Grasshopper?" 

* * *

"God, you look great, man." Blair smoothed down the black silk lapels and smiled in admiration. "Downright delicious." 

"Looks like you've got your appetite back." 

"You bet. When do we eat?" Licking his lips playfully, Blair teased the edge of Jim's mouth with his finger. 

"Hey, you guys. Cut that out. We're in a church here." Brown came up behind them, grinning and shaking his head. "Makes me wonder who's getting married." 

Blair slipped his arms through Jim's and wiggled his ring finger. "Already done, man." 

"Just leaves more lovely ladies for my fine, wicked self." 

"Yeah, but you have to admit I softened them up for you first." 

Jim shook his head, grinning at the familiar banter. "You two want to stop the BS bonding moment for a second? Anybody seen Simon or Megan yet?" 

"She's in the back with her dad and Simon's as ready as his nerves can take. Man's got the jitters bad. Sent me out here to check on the ring." 

Patting his left breast pocket, Jim nodded. "Everything's secure, H. The operation's set to go." 

"Man, you talk like this is some kind of military deal or something." 

"It is, Chief. We're staging a wedding, the beginning of one of the most important domestic wars ever fought." 

"You think marriage is like a war?" 

"Sure, full of battles and skirmishes with cease fires in between." 

"Damn. I've married a real military man after all." 

"Want me to teach you some nifty throw down maneuvers a little later on?" 

Laughing out loud, Brown rubbed the back of his head and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like he needs another advantage, man." 

Jim nodded sagely. "That's true. He's taught me a few private moves we won't go into." He squeezed Blair's shoulder, relaxed by the good humor. 

"Guess I'd better go seat some more guests, then." Brown sobered and leaned in a little. "Might want to tone down the PDAs, though. A lot of the folks out there are Baptists and I hate to say it, but Daryl and his friend just got the brunt of some seriously hostile stares and comments." 

"Shit. You're kidding?" Anxious, Blair pulled away and walked to the doorway to scan the crowd. "I keep forgetting there are people like that still around, especially in a church. Is Daryl okay?" 

"So far, yeah, but I can't say the same for the captain if anyone says anything to him about it." 

Jim took a deep breath and stepped beside Blair, his hand pressed lightly into the small of his back. "Hope no one does anything ugly to spoil the wedding." 

"They probably won't, man, but I thought I'd warn you." 

"Sure. Thanks, H." Blair patted his arm as the larger man walked to the back entrance to help Rafe usher in the rest of the guests." 

"This sucks, Jim." 

"Yeah, well, it's the way it is. We're lucky we can even be honest with the people we work with." 

"I know. Most cops aren't like our Major Crimes team." 

"No, they're not. I know vice wasn't." 

Blair turned, his face questioning. "Why do you say that?" 

"It's nothing. It was a long time ago." 

"What? Tell me." 

His face suddenly drawn, he thought back to all the fag jokes, the vile queer put downs, the overt bigotry that still turned his stomach. "We had this guy named Turner. He lived with another man, and, of course, everyone ragged on him pretty hard, even harder when one of the other guys saw them kissing outside a club." 

"What happened?" 

"What usually happens. He got shunned or harassed depending on the mood of the mob. Makes me sick just to think about it." 

Somber, Blair shook his head and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "Whatever happened to Turner?" 

"He quit the force. The last I heard he ran a small security business down in San Diego." 

"That really sucks." 

"But it's real, Chief. We need to be more careful. I don't want you getting hurt because of that kind of thinking." 

"It already hurts. Every time somebody pulls that kind of shit, it hurts all of us. It keeps us from being who we are. It's not right." 

"No, it's not." 

"If I want to hug you in public, I should be able to without worrying about it." 

"True." 

Blair edged closer, his fingers walking up Jim's buttons. "And, if you wanted to kiss me right here in the doorway where anyone could see, you should be able to. It's a church, sacred ground, man. It should be safe." 

"That's for immortals, babe. Not us." 

"Kiss me anyway." 

"Blair..." 

"Come on. I dare you." 

"Shit. Don't do this." 

"I double dog dare you." Inching closer, his words carried lust and danger, a direct hit on his heart and his cock not far behind. "Come on, Jim. You know you want to." 

Jim took both his upper arms and held him in place against the edge of the doorway, meeting his eyes, tempted beyond common sense or restraint. "You're incorrigible." 

A deep, throaty laugh tickled the air. "I thought you liked outlaws, Jim. Teach me a lesson and show me how to behave. I'm a good student." He smiled again, this time pursing and licking his lips. 

Bending closer, Jim took his mouth, his tongue probing deep, the slick coffee mint flavor swelling hot inside his throat as Blair moaned in satisfaction. As he pulled away, he heard the rush of shocked chatter and shook his head. "When we get home, you're going to get it." 

Blair patted his face gently, his words a mere hush. "That better be a promise." "It is." 

"Then, go be best man and hurry back and keep it." 

* * *

"So, explain this to me, Sandy. What's the difference between a dare and a double dog dare again?" 

"A dare means a guy like Jim might be able to turn me down and save face, but a double dog dare means I got kissed at your wedding." 

"You surely did." Megan smiled in admiration and then caressed Simon's cheek as she purred. "Can't wait to get home and double dog dare my man." 

"See what you started, Sandburg." The captain's teasing growl died quickly as Megan planted a deep tongue special mid-grumble. 

"Wow, Jim. I think we need to go home and try that for ourselves." 

"Looks dangerous." 

"Exactly." 

Megan broke the kiss and laughed as she pushed back her auburn hair and picked up her beaded handbag. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'll leave you to it. Captain Banks is officially on holiday. Anybody who interrupts us for the next four days can fully expect a crazed crocodile with a serious tanty shoved up their narrow backsides." 

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Jim laughed. "Whoa there, Conner. I think we can manage." 

"That's Banks now, Jim." Simon wrapped his arms around Megan and pulled her into another kiss, the lines of their bodies melting together. As soon as he stopped, he took her hand and then waved with the other. "We're out of here, people. I've got a honeymoon to get to." 

"Way to go, Simon!" Blair raised both hands in a fisted cheer as his friends headed out the door to the waiting vehicle. The younger man turned to Jim, his face red with excitement. "You think he'll be mad about all that stuff we did to his car?" 

"It's tradition. Besides, he's in no mood to notice." 

"Yeah, I saw that." 

"Not easy to miss, Chief." 

"Especially in a room full of keen observers like ourselves, huh?" Blair chuckled and popped one of the last mints in his mouth. 

"You hungry?" 

"No, the cake and punch were cool." 

"I'm not talking about going to dinner." 

"Oh." Choking on the mint, Jim thumped his back. 

"You okay?" 

Blair spit out the candy before he could talk. "Went down the wrong way. Sorry." 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, man. But shouldn't we stay and help with the clean up?" 

"Rafe and Rhonda have that covered. We're free to head out." Jim slid his hand to the nape of Blair's neck, his voice honey-rich and husky. "I've got promises to keep, remember?" 

"Okay." Blair pulled away and used both hands to push back his wild mane. He looked all around him, his body tense and nervous. "Where'd I put our coats?" 

"In the coat room, Chief." Jim's hand settled on Blair's shoulder to still him. "Tell me what's going on." 

"I don't know. I'm tired I guess." 

"Nothing else?" 

Meeting his eyes, Blair recognized the confusion and worry. "Don't ask me to explain it, Jim. I can't. One minute I'm fine, and then it's pure panic." 

"Panic about what?" 

"About things going all wrong, about losing you, about fucking up all over again." 

Jim guided Blair to the side of the room, keeping his voice lower than usual. "First of all, you're never going to lose me, so get that shit out of your head right now. Second, let's go home so we can be alone. I don't want to talk about this here." 

"Just talk, right?" 

"If that's what you want, sure." 

As Jim moved away, his face troubled, the younger man grabbed his arm. "Don't be mad." 

"I'm not mad." 

"I would be." 

Stopping, Jim faced him. "What are you talking about?" 

"I've been a cocktease all day. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me these days." 

Jim raised his hand in a stop gesture, his voice commanding. "Just hold it right there. You've been nothing but great today, cockteasing notwithstanding. I don't mind that. You're a sexy shit when you want to be. And, if you decide to change your mind, then that's okay, too. You've got your reasons." 

"Thanks." 

"No problem. Now, let's get our coats and hit the road. Champagne always gives me a headache. All those little bubbles kind of explode in my brain at once." 

"You want me to drive?" 

Jim dug in his pocket and threw Blair the keys. "Might as well, Chief. You're sober and from the looks of things, I might as well get used to you being in the driver's seat." 

* * *

Rolling over again, Jim ran his hand along the cold, empty side of the bed and raised himself up enough to look down over the rail. Blair sat quietly turning a page and breathing slowly, the low light of the side lamp and fireplace softening the middle of the night shadows. 

Without speaking, Jim got up and put on his robe and headed downstairs. At the bottom step he paused as his lover looked up. Blair's glasses magnified the intensity of his blue gaze as he spoke. "Sorry to wake you." 

"You didn't." 

"It's three in the morning, Jim." 

"I know. Wants some chamomile tea?" 

"Do you?" 

"Not really, but it might help you sleep a little bit better." 

Blair shrugged and picked up the mug beside him. "Already tried it. I could use a warm up though." 

"Sure." Jim brought the heated teapot over and poured and then went back and got a mug down for himself. "Think I might try some after all. Couldn't hurt." 

"How's your headache?" 

"All gone. So, are you reading the yellow or the green parts?" 

"Both." Closing the book, Blair took off his glasses and put them both on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then rolled his head to stretch his neck muscles. Dressed in grey sweats, he pushed up the sleeves to bare his arms. 

"So, what do you think so far?" 

"About what?" 

"About what you're reading, Einstein." 

Blair shrugged and brought his legs up and stretched them out on the sofa. "It's interesting." 

"Just interesting?" 

"What do you want me to say? It's full of sad stories. Some apply to me, some don't." 

Coming out of the kitchen area, Jim leaned on the beam, his arms and ankles crossed. "And how does that make you feel?" 

"Pissed this kind of shit happened to so many people." 

"Yeah, me, too, but at least you know you're not the only one going through this kind of thing." He hesitated a moment, reluctant to say more, but forced himself to continue. "I thought it made a lot of sense in some places, especially about what it feels like to be the partner." 

Blair sat back up and scooted closer. "How does it feel?" 

"Frustrating sometimes." 

"Because I make you crazy?" 

"Because I can't fix it." 

Nodding, Blair leaned back and took a deep breath. "Nobody can fix it." 

"But it can get better, Chief. I know that. It's just patience has never been one of my best virtues." 

"You're doing fine, Jim. You've been great through this whole mess." 

"I'm trying." 

"I know, man, and I appreciate it." The younger man closed his eyes, his voice low and near mournful. "I don't know why you put up with me sometimes." 

Jim stepped closer and kneeled by the sofa, resting his chin on the armrest while he gently touched and petted Blair's hair. "Because I love you, you're worth it, and I'm such a great guy." 

Blair's laugh caught them both by surprise as he took Jim's hand and pulled him onto the couch to sit beside him. "Jim's trinity. I'll have to remember that." 

"I mean it." 

His smile warmed as Blair caressed his lover's cheek. "I know you do." 

"I can chant it for you if you like." 

"No, that's okay. I think I can do without that for the moment." Hugging him gently, Blair rubbed the back of his neck tenderly. "You know, I've been thinking." 

"Oh, dear. This could be dangerous." 

"Asshole." 

"At your mercy." 

"Anyway, I've been thinking about the wedding. Simon and Megan looked so great, didn't they?" 

"Yeah, they did." 

Blair scooted down and brought his legs up, signaling his partner to do the same so they could stretch out together. Lying on his side, Jim pulled him back, spooning him along the front of his body, drinking in the warmth and the rich connection. The younger man dragged the red blanket off the back of the sofa to cover them, their heads resting comfortably on the pillows before he spoke again. "This feels good." 

"Yeah, it does. Now, you were saying?" 

"I was thinking about the commitment ceremony we talked about. I was listening to Megan and Simon make their vows and I thought, we've already done that. Jim and I are really and truly totally married." 

Giving his man a little squeeze around the middle, Jim nuzzled his chin against his neck. "You just now realizing that?" 

"No, but it hit me that as great as it was for Simon and Megan, we don't really need to do that in public for it to be just as real." 

"Are you sure?" 

"At first I thought I'd been cheated, you know with the legal part, and maybe I still feel that way a little. But I don't give a shit what the law says, we're married as much as anybody. Standing up in front of everybody to make it more official, well, I don't need that like I thought I did." 

Kissing the side of Blair's neck, Jim nibbled the salty skin, the tiny tickles of hair as they sprang up. "I'll stand up in front of anybody and say whatever you want, babe." 

"I know you will. You proved that when you kissed me at the church. Do you realize that's the first time we've ever done that with an audience?" 

"Made me hotter than a desert in August, too." 

Blair moaned as Jim's right hand roamed up his chest, teasing his nipples through the cotton, his left hand slowly sneaking south. "God, man, what you do to me." 

Passion fired a hungry tongue, the need burning his blood, flaming his brain into a frenzy. "Marry me now, Blair, every night, every day, every moment. Be mine." 

"Already done, Jim." Blair turned in his arms, his kiss branding both their lips with a wealth of promise, the sweet growl of infinity their witness. 

The end


End file.
